


Arizona Rainbow

by WritinRealSlow



Category: Original Work
Genre: American Sign Language, Bullying, Cheese, Crying, Fictional Town, Gay, High School, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Music mentioned, Nonbinary Character, Original Fiction, Other, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Trans Male Character, Two Moms, discussions of illness, mute character, new home, themes of isolation, warning: dense main character, warning: stupid cute moments, warning: wisconsin is mentioned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 08:07:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24347746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinRealSlow/pseuds/WritinRealSlow
Summary: Having just moved to Arizona with his grandmother, Ewan feels lost in a new life far from everything and everyone he's ever known. Is there anything good to be found in the sand-blasted world of dry heat he's found himself in?Lance seems like a good start, though he may be more trouble than he's worth.





	1. Tough Love

_-and it only hurts when I’m breathing, my heart only aches when it’s beating…_

I shook my head and set the cardboard box I’d been carrying on the larger pile and reached for my phone. I’d been trying to get used to country music, but a sad country breakup song was the last thing I needed right now. My motivation to move everything up the stairs was already low, and Shania Twain’s mournful, twangy cooing was definitely not helping.

Swiping away from the country playlist was liberating, though a little melancholy. Cinder had put it together for me before the move, promising it would help ease me into the new environment. I’d called her full of shit, and the talk devolved until my grandmother’s throw pillows started living up to their name.

Sighing, I selected one of my favorite playlists and slid my phone into my back pocket as the music began, a heavy piano bar and single strums soon joined by the heavy base line and drums. I knew she meant well, but it just wasn’t my thing. Though considering she was deaf, I had the sneaking suspicion she was just messing with me.

A promise was a promise though. I’d listen to the country list later. After we finished moving everything. Probably.

“...an! Ewan!” I paused, pulling one of my earbuds out. Did Gramma want something?

“Ewan Silva, answer me before I come up there and pull those headphones out of your head myself!”

Yep, she definitely wanted something. For an old woman, she had some amazingly strong lungs.

“What is it Gramma?” I yelled back, dropping my earbuds into the neck of my shirt. I chuckled at the tiny sound of the music still playing from my chest. For some reason it always made me laugh.

“Come help me move the kitchen boxes! I can’t take them all myself!”

I highly doubted that, but I was way too smart to tell her that. Gramma Opal was way tougher than me, tougher than anybody back in our old home. Probably tougher than anybody here too, but I’d have to conduct more research.

“Coming!” I shouted back, hurrying down the stairs, running my hand along the oak bannister along the way. The new place was a lot nicer than I was used to, which wasn’t saying all that much. Our home had been pretty standard, and Mr. Asher had a lot more money than we ever did. Or would.

Coming out the door, I was nearly knocked back inside from the heat difference. I could practically feel my face blistering as I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing the lighting change would hurt less with repetition. It didn’t though, it blinded me every time I came back out for another box.

_Note to self, sunglasses would be a wise investment._

“Open your eyes child, the fresh air isn’t that scary.”

I squinted at my granny, hoping to look more unimpressed than near-sighted.

“Ah ha. Ha. Good one gramma. And it’s still just as funny as the first time. What is this, the four-hundredth time?” My eyes finally adjusted, and I made sure she could see me roll them. “Repetition is the key to comedy, yeah?”

My Grandmother didn’t look all that imposing, standing just around five feet and slightly plump, she’d pulled her greying hair back into a loose bun, with a few loose tresses falling onto her faded grey shirt. She looked entirely normal, nothing like the woman who had once decked a man nearly twice her size for threatening to have her car towed. Once being earlier this year.

In her defense, the man was being incredibly rude, considering she was holding a very sick, very upset baby at the time. He never pressed charges either. He probably didn’t want to admit a tiny, sixty-year old woman had laid him out.

Gramma shoved a clear tote of pots and pans into my hand with an accompanying jangle.

“Very funny, smartarse.” Despite the years gone from England, her accent was as pronounced as ever. I could probably blame her for the weird hybrid of Midwestern and British that made up my own verbal cadences. “Now bring get moving, we have too much to unpack before it rains.”

Curious, I glanced upwards. Yep, still sunny and clear. And hot. I shifted the box enough to wipe my forehead.

“I think we have time. Besides, a little rain would probably be a relief, considering it’s fucking two-hundred degrees out today!” And it wasn’t even noon! When Gramma had insisted we start everything early, I’d assumed it was to beat the heat, not introduce me to it.

“You might think so, but the rain here is a little different from the Midwest.” Came a thin voice from behind me.

Daniel Asher leaned against the wooden frame of the doorway, breathing heavy and cane in hand. A man in his late fifties, at least according to Gramma, he’d obviously lost a great deal of weight in a short amount of time, and his clothes hung from him like moss from a willow. Even so, his eyes were bright beneath the bangs of his dark hair, which, along with his well-trimmed beard, was speckled with grey.

I nodded to him with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Asher.”

He smiled back, charming and bright. “And you, young man.” He had this smooth, disarmingly charming southern accent that seemingly brought out the best in every word, even with the way it was obviously weakening. “You must be Ewan. Your grandmother has told me so much about you.” He looked up to my gramma and smiled, brighter this time. “Opal. You look lovely as ever.”

“And you look terrible, Daniel.” She replied bluntly. “I thought I told you to stay in bed until we were done.”

He laughed, a chuckle that quickly turned into a wheezing cough. “Well, I couldn’t very well let my old friend arrive without a proper welcome! What kind of southern gentleman would I be without a show of hospitality?”

“The kind that follows his new caretaker’s orders to not strain himself.” Gramma huffed, shaking her head as she turned to me. “Put the kettle on when you get in the kitchen, I’m going to need some tea for this job.”

“Sure thing Gramma.” I replied, scooting past an accommodating Mr. Asher.

“The kitchen’s to the left! Help yourself to some lemonade!” He said as I walked past.

“Thanks, I will!” I replied, carefully shifting the tote to avoid hitting anything on my way through the hallway and the large living room, even as my eyes wandered. The room was lined with fully stocked bookshelves and bursts of color in the form of various paintings of wildflowers, landscapes and even a very convincing thunderstorm. The room was centered around a cozy looking, unused and very confusing fireplace, with a large flat screen hanging over it, and an assortment of soft looking couches and chairs placed in a semi-circle around it.

I resolved to give the furniture my personal attention later, possibly with some of that promised lemonade, and moved on to the kitchen. It too, was nice. Clean, limestone countertops with a stainless-steel sink and reflective metal refrigerator, a sparkling clean electric stove and a kitchen island of the same white limestone, lined with what appeared to be hand carved wooden chairs. All very classy.

Quickly setting the kitchen supply box down next to the island, I popped my earbuds back in and opened it back up as the next song started up, carefully sorting through the contents to the sound of another “I’m stronger without you” breakup song. I was sure Mr. Asher had plenty of kitchen supplies here, but Gramma had insisted on bringing her personal set of pots and pans, insisting they were better than anything “that new money fogey” could have access to. And of course, her favorite tea pot.

Gingerly, I pulled it out and inspected it for any possible blemish I could conceivably be blamed for. Composed of inlaid silver and brass, Celtic Knots were intricately patterned across its surface, connecting surprisingly detailed roses and, according to Gramma at least, azaleas. It was her most prized possession and family heirloom, having been given to her by her grandmother as well.

I cautiously carried it over to the sink, turned on the water, and nearly dropped it out of surprise as the water came out scalding hot.

“Ah! What the fuck?” I muttered, shaking off the stray drops and blowing on my hand. After checking to make sure I hadn’t accidentally turned the water on hot (I hadn’t), I waited for it to cool down (it didn’t) before I remembered that tea kind of required hot water. With a sigh, I turned the pressure down and filled up the teapot, setting it on the stove as I flipped to another song, the familiarly heavy music from back up in my new room starting up again.

Happy with my progress, I decided to take Mr. Asher up on his offer of lemonade, walking over and opening the fridge, which I now discovered was incredibly well stocked and deeper than it originally looked. With a little rummaging, I was able to find the promised drink, trapped, but soon to be liberated from, a dripping glass pitcher. Slices of lemon floated at the top, bulging slightly from the accompanying ice. I swallowed, suddenly very thirsty.

Of course, I had no idea where the cups were. And so, after setting the pitcher on one of the counters, I began delving into the cupboard situation, hoping to secure enough glasses to share the quenching yellow treasure with Gramma as well.

As I searched, the music began to rise, and I started to sing along.

_“…I know you… I know you… I know you… You know me better than you think you do.”_

The base dropped and I couldn’t help but step in time to the beat, snapping as I searched, finally closing my eyes and weaving along for the remainder of the drop.

_“As you get high~… As you get high~ As you get high! As you get-”_

My phone buzzed, dulling the music for a moment as I snapped back to reality.

“High.” I finished, pulling my phone back out. Two new texts, both from my deaf bestie.

**Hey Yew, how goes the move? Weather app says it be over 100 there! Hope the dry heat is as good as people say! (n_n)**

I shook my head. I had no idea why she insisted on using emoticons, but she sent them with such regularity it had basically become something of a trademark. It wasn’t the worst habit she could have, just a little weird for someone our age.

**Btw, I miss you already! (;_;) I hope the country music makes you think of me! Nadya helped me with it! \^_^/**

That explained a lot, actually. Nadya Jawahir was another friend of ours, and I had the distinct impression that Cinder had a teeny tiny, ever so small major crush on the girl. I had no idea if Nadya liked her back the same way though, but she was also one of the only other kids who had deigned to learn even the basics of sign language, so she at least respected Cinder enough to put the same effort into the relationship that I had. Which was good, because I wasn’t there to “talk” to her anymore.

My eyes suddenly itched, and I had to wipe what was definitely dust and not tears from the corners. It was weird that it was hitting me now, but I was really gone. My old friends, my old school, my whole life was all back in Minnesota. And I didn’t know what I was going to do about it yet.

**It goes.** I typed back. **And it’s like walking into a bonfire here. And** **I miss you too! And tell Nadya to get better taste in music!**

The music wasn’t really that bad, but my friendship with Nadya basically amounted to the two of us being mean for no reason and then laughing at the fake outraged responses. Truly, we were the best of friends.

I turned back to looking for the cups, but my phone buzzed again, demanding my attention.

**How dare you critisize my music yu techno freak! I should strangl yo with my hijab for such an insult!**

Ah, Nadya was throwing her lot in. I snickered as I started typing back.

**Pretty sure you need to keep that thing on. And how ya gonna get me now? I’m like 9 states away!** My heart hurt as I hit send. I didn’t think I’d miss them as much as I did.

**Bold to assum I only have 1. Dont think the distanc will keep me from kicking your ass!** A pause, then another message popped up. **Try not to shrivle up before we can come see you youll be no fun to fite with.**

Drops spattered the screen of my phone and twisted the words. Well shit, this was it, huh? Even Nadya was managing a fraction of sincerity now, and I wasn’t even there to see it in person. I wasn’t sure I knew how to handle it. Until now, I hadn’t even had to.

But now… I really was gone, wasn’t I? Away from my old life, from Cinder, the friend I’d had since my parents died. From Nadya, the only person close enough to insult me one moment and fight anybody on my behalf the next. From my home.

One of my earbuds popped out and a hand grasped my shoulder, turning me around to face my grandmother, looking up at me in mild concern.

“The water’s been ready for a while now Ewan. You shouldn’t have your music so loud.”

I nodded, drawing my arm across my eyes. “Sorry Gramma. I’ll take it off the heat now.”

“Hush child, it’s already off. If you remembered to put down your phone every now and then, you might have noticed me turn it off.”

A chuckle somehow found its way out of me. It only sounded a little like a sob. “You’re right, you’re right. You can make the tea then, and I’ll go get the other-”

“Sod the tea!” Gramma Opal hugged me against her, pulling my head into her shoulder. “I’m here, my little sapling. I’m here.”

I could never understand how someone so small could be so strong, but it didn’t matter. I hugged my Grandmother tightly, and let the tears flowed freely.

“So Ewan, what are your plans for this weekend?” Mr. Asher asked, taking a cautious sip of the chaga tea Gramma had put in front of him, despite his stated desire for the sweet iced tea he had prepared in the fridge. She’d shot him down, claiming that “real tea would be far better for him than sugar-soaked ice cubes,” and he hadn’t put up much of a fight. He pulled a small face and placed the cup back on the saucer. “After you’re done unpacking, of course. I wager you’ll be enjoying a long weekend.”

I smiled, taking a sip of my own white tea. It tasted mild, which was precisely what I wanted out of the drink. Despite my grandmother’s best efforts, I’d never developed an enjoyment for the traditional pastime of ingesting leaf water, so I always went with whatever would be the easiest to swallow.

“Actually, I was thinking of going to my new school tomorrow. I’d like to get settled in, you know?” Or at least get enough of a schedule going to divert me from my thoughts. No better distraction than the mind-numbing monotony of public school.

“That’s very responsible of you.” Mr. Asher took another reluctant sip. “I’d figured you’d want to put it off for a while,” he continued. “Maybe look around town a little.”

“There’ll be time enough for faff and nonsense later.” Gramma said, blowing the steam from her rose tea. She actually said that too. “Faff and nonsense.” Sometimes I wondered if she went the extra mile to be as British as possible, just to set herself apart. She had lived with me in the states for more than a decade, definitely long enough to have picked up more local habits.

Maybe it was a pride thing?

She drank deep from her cup. “Schooling comes first, faffing about comes later.” She took another drink and sighed in contentment. “And there will be plenty of time to faff this weekend,” she gave me a knowing look. “Assuming you do your homework in time.”

I snorted and finished my tea in a single pull. I wasn’t exactly the best student back at home, but I’d never really struggled to pass my classes. Except for physics. And a little bit of algebra. And being cool, though I had the strong suspicion that Nadya had made that up.

“Somehow I’ll make it through. Southbend Senior High can’t be all that much harder than back home.” I paused, frowning. “Back north I mean.”

Mr. Asher perked up. “Southbend High eh?? That’s a fine school! You’ll be in good company, going there with my son Lance.”

“Oh!” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

“I sure do. Didn’t you tell him anything Opal? It didn’t slip your mind when you rushed to be here with me?” Was he flirting with Gramma? It was a little hard to tell, it seemed so natural.

“To take care you, you dying old goat. And if you weren’t paying me, I’d never have uprooted my family and moved to this desert wasteland you call a state.” She sniffed. “This country is ridiculous, I only just begin to get used to the temper tantrums the people in the Midwest call weather, and now I have to get used to a bloody desert with a monsoon season!” She shook her head and took another sip. “If King George had known about this, he’d have let you yanks keep the country, no war required!”

“Uh…” I trailed off, looking from Gramma to Mr. Asher. “Monsoon season?”

“Oh yes.” He replied, pushing his still full cup away with a finger. “You made it just in time for the end, they’re usually done by the end of September. As I said, the rain here is a little different from what you’re used to.” He paused thoughtfully. “The weather actually calls for a monsoon today, so you’ll get to see what I mean.”

I looked out the kitchen window at the clear blue sky, not a cloud in sight.

“I’m not so sure, it looks clear for miles.”

He closed his eyes and smiled, leaning back in his chair. “When you get to my age, you can tell when a storm is coming. The small changes you feel in the air, the finely-honed instincts, built over a lifetime of experience, of loss and gain. You learn to listen to your instincts, to notice the signs of change.”

I gave him a look. “I guess I’ll take your word for it, sir. Is that from a book?”

He winked. “No, but I should probably write that down for my next one. And it’s the rising dew point that tells me.”

“Dew point, huh?”

“Humidity.” Gramma clarified as she stood up and began collecting the teacups. “And I believe we’ve had enough of our little break. As soon as I wash these, we bring everything in and unpack. Then we can get started on dinner.”

Mr. Asher shakily rose to his feet and reached for the cups. “No darlin’, allow me to get those. I’m can’t very well let you do everything after you made such… lovely tea for us.”

“I’ll thank you not to call me that.” She replied smoothly, holding the dishes just out of reach. “And you most certainly can very well let me do everything, it’s what I’m being paid for. Which is also why you-” she raised a single eyebrow at his teacup, which was still mostly full “-will be sitting here until you finish your ‘lovely’ tea.” Her tone made it very clear there was no room for negotiation. He did look like he would try though, but another side eye had him sinking back into his chair, hands held up in surrender.

I hid a chuckle. Gramma had been a professional nanny back in England, and after moving to the states she’d more or less kept steady employment with similar jobs, taking care of everyone between the ages of five and ninety. From what I’d seen, she’d yet to meet her match. Aside from me, of course.

“Ewan love, go and start bringing in the boxes. I’ll come join you after everything is squared away here.” She gave Mr. Asher another look, and he quickly sipped his tea, unspoken protests drowning in the opaque liquid.

I nodded and left, popping my earbuds back in as my grandma began arguing with her old friend, now her charge, about rest and work. Leaving the house, I had to admit the air felt a little heavier than it had that morning, though considering how dry it had been, any moisture in the air would probably be impossible to miss.

_“…Weight is on you, weight is on me, sometimes I’m not who you want me to be. God knows I try, we stumble and we fall, there’s no place I’d rather be than in your arms.”_

The song broke into the chorus and I looked back through the window, watching as Gramma stood, arms crossed, as Mr. Asher struggled to finish the tea.

“'Tough love’ hm?” I murmured, hefting a box of clothes from the moving truck floor. “Yeah, I guess that fits.”


	2. Memory Rain

_“Hey now, what’s the problem? Do you feel down, or forgotten? If your reason’s that yo-”_ I pulled my earbuds off and dropped them next to me on my new bed as I stared up at the ceiling. It was a little bigger than my old one, which was a marked improvement. I’d been due for an upgrade for a while, but we’d never really gotten around to it. Come to think of it, the whole room was about a size larger, it just didn’t seem that way with all the boxes still lying around.

At my grandmother’s urging, we’d spent most of the day unpacking and settling in, leaving only my belongings still boxed up and waiting. I’d been planning on getting out for a run before I took care of it, but then the rain happened.

Mr. Asher hadn’t been kidding when he warned us about the rain, it really was a bonafide monsoon out there. Or at least I assumed it was, I only really had Wisconsin weather to compare it to, and we usually didn’t get storms this heavy. The window shook and rattled in its pane, battered as it was by the harsh wind and rain. It was a little worrying, but Mr. Asher had promised us the house could handle anything the storm could throw our way. Considering we were edging into the fourth hour of heavy weather, I was inclined to believe him.

Groaning, I rolled to the side of the bed and slid down to sit on the floor, grabbing my phone out to pull up FEH, a gacha game phone app that had taken a good portion of my attention, and only a little of my money, over the last couple years. It was my new favorite. The familiar music started up, but I couldn’t bring myself to play. True, there was an event going I had high hopes for, but the effort of playing just seemed like too much and, with another groan, I closed out of the app.

I’d have plenty of time to play later, right now I had boxes to clear through.

One more groan, but a little more determined this time. I hated the thought of having to go through everything again, we’d only just finished packing it the day before we got here. But Gramma would get all over my case if I didn’t get at least a little bit of a start. Still, it was a bit of a daunting task.

A brief mental bargaining period passed as I argued with myself. I didn’t want to be cooped up, unpacking the pile of boxes forever, so I made a personal agreement to at least get my clothes out. After all, I’d probably need clothes to go to school. And be let out of the house. Or let myself be seen by anybody other than my mirror.

Yeah, clothes were probably a good start.

There’s nothing quite like the moving process to make you question yourself, especially your fashion sense. When we’d started boxing them up, I’d barely looked at any of the shirts or pants or anything that I was throwing in. Time was short, and so was Gramma’s temper. But now, I was forced to come to terms with the exact, horribly embarrassing amount of clothes I wore that fell into two groups: Clothes I only wore in the deep dark of winter, kept hidden by my coat, sweatshirt and various other covers that were a must for survival, and nerdy and or stupid shirts with jokes and logos for some of my favorite games, books and bands.

Also that one tank top Cinder had given me for my last birthday that said “I run to escape the calories” with a picture of a stickman being chased by donuts and pizza. I’d laughed then, and I laughed now, just a little sadder this time around.

Mr. Asher had been nice enough to supply my room with a rather large dresser, as well as a decently sized closet. The closet would especially helpful, considering the obscene amount of winter clothing I wouldn’t be using this year. Unless heat stroke became the goal in the coming days.

“I guess we’ll see.” I muttered, making liberal use of the hangers.

I took this chance to change the clothes I’d been wearing as well, tossing them into the laundry hamper Gramma had left in my room before she started on dinner. They were already getting too sweaty, and somehow too dusty as well. Probably for the best that I got used to changing my clothes more often anyway.

This evening had been introspective in the strangest way.

Thankfully, my phone buzzed and offered a new distraction from self-reflection. It was a new message from Cinder.

**Hey you’ve been quiet for a while now. Is everything okay? Was Nadya too mean? Want me to kick her butt? (‘_’)**

I swore under my breath. I’d forgotten to text them back earlier. I couldn’t tell them I’d been crying, Nadya would never let me live it down. Cinder wouldn’t either, but in a more concerned, “It’s okay if you need to cry” sort of way. She’d done it before; she’d do it again.

**Hey sorry!** I typed out. **Things got a little crazy for a bit, lots of unpacking.** Send. Not technically a lie, but all they really needed to know.

Bzz. Another text, another distraction. This one was from Nadya.

**Be honest. You were just too weak for the heat and melted into the ground and now you have to type with your weird, sludgy body.**

**Oh dear, is it true? Did our best friend go the way of the popsicle? (X_X)**

I snorted. **I haven’t melted yet you weirdos. And it’s not even hot right now, it’s raining. We got here at the tail end of monsoon season.**

**Oh so your hiding inside like a little bitch. I gotcha.**

I sent back the biggest eye roll my gif options could supply. **If you think you can do better, feel free to fail trying. But don’t expect me to fish out your waterlogged corpse when you’re done.**

**You two are such good friends you know that? (-_-)**

**How dare you slander my good name like that.** Nadya typed back.

**Yeah, fighting words Cinder!** I added.

I could practically feel the Cinder’s groan from across the country. She was always the calming influence between us, but there wasn’t much she could do when none of us were present. So naturally, she’d have to employ different tactics for a group text.

**So what’s the house like? Is it big and fancy? (?_?)** Ah, a subject change. Excellent move.

**It’s huge.** I replied, seizing the opportunity. **I’m gonna look around now. I’ll text you more when I’m done.**

**Have fun! (^_-) Cinder sent.**

**Don’t get lost and starve.** Nadya added.

I didn’t even bother typing a reply to that, I just sent another eye roll. Sometimes Nadya just didn’t merit responding to, and tonight was one of those times.

Haphazardly and halfheartedly folding and storing the rest of my clothes, I threw the empty boxes into the corner and left, poking my head back in a moment later to flip off the light switch. The last thing I needed was Gramma berating me for wasting energy. Again.

The rain was still pounding the house as I found myself stopped at the top of the stairs, a heavy, rhythmic accompaniment to my late-night exploration. A rather large tapestry hung under the opposite bannister, a swathe of red cloth the size of a large couch. I’d noticed it a bit earlier but hadn’t had the chance to look closely. Given the time now, I could see it was really quite beautiful, the smooth, deep crimson embroidered with golden thread, the intricate patterns carefully drawn out into delicate flames surrounding a coiling, serpentine Chinese dragon.

The effect was only slightly mitigated by the white cowboy hat hanging two feet to its side. And the black one hanging on the other.

Come to think of it, the entirety of the house was decorated in a similarly… let’s call it “eclectic” fashion. The walls of the landing were covered in decorations, from Japanese wave paintings to a charcoal sketch of a teddy bear wearing shoes, from a watercolor scroll of birds at rest to something that was almost certainly finger-painted by a kindergartner.

A crudely sculpted and glazed clay pot sat on a pedestal, right next to a narrow, blown glass vase filled with a single sunflower. I peered closer at the clay pot and found an inscription on the pedestal.

From Thomas Kornule, Saxton Elementary

Did Mr. Asher get sent a lot of artwork? I vaguely recalled Gramma mentioning him writing for a living, but I’d thought she said he wrote murder mysteries, and a lot of the artwork was clearly from younger kids, most no older than middle school. Or maybe they were cursed with my level of talent. I made a mental note to ask him about that later and kept walking.

Further on I found the upstairs bathroom, two locked doors, Gramma’s empty bedroom, a trapdoor that presumably lead to an attic of sorts, and finally, the library. Or as close to a library as it could be.

The room was lined with bookshelves, packed to the brim with paper treasures of all shapes and sizes. Two armchairs sat in the center with an end table in between, a single, antique lamp sitting atop it. Light flashed through the windows as thunder rumbled through the house, casting a brief shadow across the shelves.

This was the greatest thing.

Walking through the room, I scanned over some of the titles, finding them as extensive and varied as the hall outside had been. The Odyssey, Romeo and Juliet and Tom Sawyer shared a shelf with Captain underpants and Calvin and Hobbes.

“At least he’s consistent in his inconsistency.” I said aloud, pulling a book from the shelf art random. “Chaos.” I shrugged and sat down in one of the chairs, opening to the first chapter.

“The sun beat down through a sky that had never seen clouds…

“Up a little late, are we?”

I jumped, nearly dropping my book as something hot pressed against my cheek. “Gramma, don’t scare me like that!”

She shrugged and pulled back the steaming mug. “Don’t focus on your book so hard, you might hear people coming in.”

I closed the book with a sigh. “Sorry, I was just… well, focused.” I stopped to think. “It can’t be that late.”

She motioned to a large grandfather clock near the door, the hands revealing that it was indeed, that late. Nearly ten-thirty. “Perhaps not on another day, but it’s a school night. Can’t have you tardy on the first day, can we?”

I stood up and stretched, smiling warily. “Well I mean, we could always use the excuse of ‘tired from the move.’”

My grandmother chuckled, closely followed by that _tsk tsk_ noise. “Tut tut, no lying to your professors.” She offered a mug. “Now drink this and get ready for bed, you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Aw c’mon, I already had tea today! I don’t even like the stuff!”

“Yes, I know.” Her tone added the word “Idiot” where there had been none. “That’s why this is warm milk.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, ‘oh.’” She pushed the cup into my hands again. “Now drink up and get ready for bed, you’re not the only baby I need to put to sleep tonight.”

I nodded and took a sip. It was good, not too hot, and I could taste a small amount of sweetness, honey maybe? Warmth filled my chest and I took another sip. There was a hint of cinnamon too. Gramma used to make me warm milk every night when I first started living with her, back when the weight of my parents’ deaths still kept me from sleeping. It was a bittersweet memory, but it, like the milk, warmed me to my core.

She stepped forward, wiping her thumb across my cheek. “Careful not to cry into the milk, sapling, you’ll dilute the flavor.”

I started, nearly spilling the milk. My eyes were entirely dry, for a change. Today had been a little too teary for my taste anyway. And I was beyond letting such an old wound hurt me.

“I’m not crying Gramma. I’m just remembering things.”

She _tsk_ ed again. “No, I suppose you aren’t. Not right now. But tears will come when they want, Ewan. They serve their purpose when they need to.” She hugged me close, carefully moving around our respective mugs. “Let them fall, they can’t hurt you.” She pulled back and smiled at me, taking a sip of her tea. I mirrored her.

“Have you thought about writing a book Gramma? Maybe share your advice with the rest of the world?”

Gramma just rolled her eyes and led me to the door, flipping the lights off as we went. “I’d hardly have the time, taking care of you lot. Now march off to bed. You have dreams waiting for you.”

I laughed and finished my milk off in one pull, saluting her as I finished. “Yes ma’am! That pillow won’t know what hit it!”

She shook her head and snatched the mug from my hand. “Sometimes I think I’ve raised a complete fool. Don’t forget to brush your teeth, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

I turned and walked away, waving. “I never forget. Try not to stay up cleaning.”

“I will do what I want. Now go to bed.”

I wasn’t sure why, but I stopped and turned to look at her. “Gramma?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still… miss them?”

It was hard to tell in the low light, but she almost seemed to wilt. The silence hung heavy in the air, broken only by the pounding rain.

“Everyday Ewan. Every single day. Now please go to bed.”

I sighed and turned back around. “Goodnight Gramma. I love you.”

“I love you too.”


	3. Inevitable Education

Going to a new school is always an odd occurrence in life, probably even stranger than moving to a new house. When you move houses, you only really have to worry about what your new neighbors are like, making sure everyone knows your new address and what’s all located close enough that you don’t need to drive if you’re exceptionally bored or need milk. It’s a pain, but it’s mostly straightforward. Mostly.

A new school is far more complicated. You have to figure out transportation, lunches, what to wear on your first day that tells a convincing enough lie to everyone that sees you that you aren’t as big a loser as you worry you actually are deep down, and that’s all just introductory information. You’ll need to make new friends, build a repertoire with the nicer teachers, figure out where everything’s located so you’re not walking around the halls like a gerbil lost in the vents and of course, actually do well in your classes.

And then there’s the paperwork. I can’t say for sure if moving requires more or less paperwork than switching schools, but I’m pretty sure most people who move don’t have to sit in a purple plastic chair, watching as the school secretary chews her way through a half-pound bag of sunflower seeds while waiting for what had to be the slowest printer in the world to spit out a whole single page of your schedule. Call it a hunch. And this was after a half-hour of sitting next to my grandmother as Principal Michaels, a portly man wearing both suspenders and a cowboy hat, went on about the need for excellence and his high hopes for the honor I would bring to the school. Or whatever the rant was about. In truth, I’d stopped listening after I noticed the photo of a rodeo clown being lassoed behind his desk. My brain decided it was more important, and the twang of his accent faded to mere background noise in a matter of moments.

_I wonder how many different southern accents there are._ I pondered as my mind wandered off to somewhere infinitely more interesting.

Eventually he stopped talking and Gramma left me to my own devices. “I’ll see you this evening after school, I’ve got to run. Remember, best foot forward.” And then she left me to my boring fate.

An unbearable amount of time later the secretary, Ms. Shelby, finally handed me my schedule.

“Do you need help finding your first class?” She asked, spitting a seed into the very full bottom of what seemed like her designated seed can.

I shook my head and accepted the paper as she took a swig from a water bottle and popped another handful of seeds into her mouth. “I think I’ll be fine but thank you. Do I need a note or something?”

“Probly.” She snatched up a notepad and started scribbling. “Where you from anyway?”

“Wisconsin.” I replied, hoping to move this along.

“Everyone up there speak like you?” She continued, tearing the paper off and holding it out. I gratefully snatched it up and readjusted my backpack.

“Not that I’ve noticed. Thanks for the help.” I backed out the door with a wave, cutting off further conversation with a cheery “Bye!”

I’d grown used to people asking me about my accent, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. You can only sit through so many “but where are you REALLY from” conversations before you learn to deflect like a pro.

Anyway, now that I’d escaped the truly dangerous situation that was a harmlessly curious person, I could get to my first class. It didn’t seem like too hard a task, most high schools are laid out simply enough. Two separate wings, a cafeteria in the middle, the offices in front, the gymnasium off to the side somewhere, classrooms spread out wherever there’s room. Plus, signs exist. The signs know all.

It only took me a few minutes to locate my first class, which the paper informed me was English with Mr. Spears. After taking a brief moment to straighten out my clothes, I took a deep breath and opened the classroom door.

“-Fifth time you’ve been late this week! And might I remind you that it’s Friday, so you’ve been late every single day!”

It took me longer than I’d care to admit to realize that, whoever was talking, and presumably it was the teacher, they weren’t talking to me. Nonetheless I froze for an instant before peeking in. Two people stood at the front of the room in front of a room filled with bored and tired looking students. The first was the teacher, a man of average height and slim build with thinly framed glasses, long sandy hair pulled back into a ponytail and a blatant scowl on his clean-shaven face, suddenly aimed in my direction as I walked in.

The other person was an almost perfect contrast. Standing arms crossed, he was quite a bit taller than the teacher, with shorter, messy brown hair and faded sideburns leading into a light hint of brown that framed his strong jawline. His tan face was handsome, if slightly marred by the look of bored resentment he was tossing around. And unlike the teacher’s crisp, professional dress shirt and khaki slacks, he wore a pair of torn jeans and a worn leather jacket.

Basically he was exactly what you’d expect of someone getting yelled at for perpetual tardiness.

Mr. Spears waved him off. “Take your seat, Mister Asher, we’ll talk after class.”

_Asher?_ _Could that be…?_

“And you are?”

I started, snapping back to reality. Mr. Spears wasn’t scowling anymore, but he certainly didn’t look happy. A few people snickered, and I felt my face grow warm. I hoped I hadn’t been standing there too long.

“Uh… Ewan Silva. I just transferred in? I have a note from the office.” I passed him the slip. He barely looked at it.

“Ah yes, I remember something about that.” He waved me off and picked a remote up off his desk, pointing it at the projector on the ceiling. “Just take a seat where there’s room. And grab a book from the back shelf, we’re reading ‘Romeo and Juliet.’”

And so I followed his instructions, awkwardly scooting between desks on my way to the back and trying my best not to accidentally whip somebody’s nose off with the straps of my backpack. Bodily harm probably wouldn’t be the best introduction I’d want to make.

Taking a well-worn book, I edged my way to the only free seat in the classroom: the back corner of the classroom, right next to the Asher guy. I gave a friendly smile as I dropped down into my desk, and I think he might have glanced at me out of the corner of his eye? It was hard to tell, his eyes were so dark and heavy lidded, and he stared straight ahead, leaning back with his arms crossed.

Mr. Spears walked to the center of the room, holding his own book. “Continuing where we left off, everyone open to act three, scene one.” The sound of rustling paper filled the classroom as everyone followed orders, some people opening directly to the page, others having to hunt for it. The teacher waited impatiently, tapping his foot until the sounds of searching stopped. “Now then, who would like to start us out?”

Nobody raised their hands, and the teacher let out a long-suffering sigh. I briefly considered raising my own hand but decided against it. I’d read the book back in ninth grade, and my then English teacher had a habit of choosing volunteers from the people she knew were more comfortable speaking in front of people. And since I’d raised my hand once or twice, and apparently nobody else in the classroom was ever willing to read, I ended up reading aloud more than I’d ever hoped to.

Mr. Spears shook his head in disappointment and pointed to the girl in the front right corner.

“Melissa, please start us out.”

“Okay.” She said and began to read in a cringe inducing monotone. “Mercutio and Benvolio enter. ‘I’m begging you, good Mercutio, let’s call it a day. It’s hot outside and…’”

She continued on like that until she came to the end of the section, after which the next person began reading. They weren’t much better, and neither was the person after them. As we worked our way through, I began to wonder if this was how it usually went. Almost nobody put any emotion into the reading, though at least half were able to read smoothly.

I briefly wondered what Shakespeare himself would think of how people read through his plays in the current age. Could he have imagined people would end up teaching his work, let alone as a sort of beleaguered standard? Probably not.

Finally though, Mr. Spears stopped us. “Enough, that’s enough.” He glared around the room. “You’re all lucky I don’t grade on reading performance, or none of you would pass this class. We’re going to try something different. Each of you turn to the person next to you and take turns reading. And at least try to put some emotion into the work, for the bard’s sake if not mine.” He sat back down at his desk, leaving us to pair ourselves off.

Turning to my right, I smiled at the leather clad boy next to me.

“Uhm… Hi. I guess we’ll be reading together. My name’s Ewan.”

He barely looked my way. “Lance.” He grumbled. “And I know yer name.”

I blinked. He had a notable drawl, and a deep, rougher voice. I’d heard a few varieties of accents already, but his seemed a little different. Though it didn’t sound bad, it almost sounded incomplete, like it was put together from disparate parts.

“Oh, oh right!” I grinned abashedly and rapped my forehead. “You probably heard me tell Mr. Spears my name earlier.”

“Yup. And my dad told me before ya got here.”

“Your… oh! Oh, you’re Mister Asher’s son!” I wasn’t sure why it had taken me so long to put everything together. Guess I was just a little dumb today.

“Yeah.” He finally looked at me. “D’Ya always dance like that when yer in someone else’s kitchen?”

You know that warm feeling you get when you know you’re blushing? I did. I knew it extremely well in that one moment. Lance said nothing else and simply looked at me, face blank.

He saw me dancing. My first introduction to the guy I’d be living with was him walking in on me dancing around his kitchen and presumably walking away.

Words fail to describe how embarrassing that is. And that’s all that words do. I stared back at Lance for a moment before taking a slow, deep breath and holding up my book. “We should probably read this before we get in trouble.”

Lance snorted and covered his face with his book. “Whatever ya say Blondie. Read away.”

Another deep breath, then I opened my book back up and started. “Men’s eyes were made to look and let them gaze. I will not budge for no man’s pleasure, not I.”

Lance sent a pointed glance over the top of his page. I ignored him.

“Well, peace be with ya sir. Here comes my man.” Lance both looked and sounded utterly uninterested, but at least he wasn’t as monotoned as half the class had been.

Plus, Shakespeare just sounds so much better with a southern accent.

We continued taking turns and surprisingly, were not the last group to finish. Once the last group finished their tortured rendition of the prince’s argument, Mr. Spears stood back up and paced the room, looking at each student in turn before stopping.

“So who can summarize this scene for me?” He glanced around at the lack of volunteers. “Really. You all just finished poorly reading, and you can’t even tell me what about?”

I cautiously raised my hand, but he ignored me and pointed to another boy. “James, what happened.”

“Uh… there was a fight?”

“Why?”

“Um… uh because… um…” I don’t think he’d expected the follow up question.

I raised my hand again, and again I was ignored.

“Ginger, can you tell us?”

“Because Tybalt was looking for Romeo and Mercutio wouldn’t tell him where he was?”

“Correct. Now who can tell me why Romeo didn’t want to fight Tybalt?” Mr. Spears paused, and pointed to the side of the room. I guess he was surprised that anybody had actually raised their hand. Aside from me, that is. “Yes, Gavin?”

“Cause Romeo was gay for him.”

A round of snickers ran through the classroom, dying down quickly as Gavin glared from under the brim of his hat. He was a big guy, tall enough that I could make his eyes out even from the back of the room.

“An… interesting idea Gavin.” Mr. Spears said, apparently trying for tact. “Why do you think that?”

“Well cause he said he loved him. Romeo said he loved Tybalt, and that’s why he didn’t want to fight him. He’s a queer.”

Mr. Spears sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Don’t use that word Gavin. And no, that’s not why. Ewan, you’ve had your hand up for a while, can you explain?”

Geez, finally. My shoulder was starting to get sore.

“Tybalt wanted to fight Romeo because he saw him at the party and was still angry that he wasn’t allowed to try and kill him for the perceived sleight right then and there. However, Romeo had just secretly married Juliet, so he was technically related to Tybalt by marriage.” I paused to wonder if “cousin-in-law” was a thing. “So Tybalt wanted to fight and Romeo didn’t and Mercutio jumped at the chance. They fought, Romeo jumped in the way and got his friend killed, then he fought and killed Tybalt and then had to run away because spilling blood between the families was recently forbidden by the prince of Verona.” Hoo, deep breath.

Mr. Spears nodded, looking mildly impressed. “Very comprehensive. And basically correct.” He looked around the room. “And can anyone tell me what happened next?” Silence. I raised my other hand. Mr. Spears heaved a sigh and gestured my way.

“Go ahead Ewan.”

“Citizens show up with Benvolio, the prince and Romeo and Juliet’s mothers. Benvolio tells them what happened, Lady Capulet calls him a liar and the Prince exiles Romeo under penalty of death.”

He nodded again. “And why did the prince not just have Romeo killed?” He was asking me directly this time. _We must be running out of time._

I shrugged. “Because Mercutio was the prince’s cousin, and Tybalt killed him and then was killed by Romeo, his crime was lessened by the justice of avenging Mercutio’s death. So his punishment was lessened.”

Mr. Spears nodded once more and walked over to his desk. “Correct. And so class,” he pointed to a stack of papers off his desk. “Please remember that for your homework tonight. And remember that Romeo, for all intents and purposes, is entirely straight.” He tossed a pointed look at Gavin, who sunk into his seat. “Collect your assignments and I’ll see you tomorrow. Dismissed.”

I stood up with everyone else, pulling my schedule back out as we all shuffled to the door. Two more classes, Lunch, then three classes after that and I’d officially be done with my first day of school. Well, my first day here.

I sighed and resolved to make the best of it. Things might not be so bad, I might even make some new friends! Plus, pitying myself now would be a waste. I’d have plenty of time for that when I was doing homework tonight. Aka “Grownup enforced, self-inflicted torture.”

Cinder had a surprising way with words for someone who never spoke.

The rest of the morning passed without much incident. In history I sat behind a talkative jock type with tan skin, dark grey eyes and wavy red hair that smelled faintly of weed, which only slightly distracted from the lesson on the rise of the Ottoman Empire. He was surprisingly friendly, and he and several other students greeted me with mostly harmless questions until class started.

“Where are you from?”

“What’s with your accent?”

“Do you like it here?”

To which the answers, respectively, were “Wisconsin,” “I was raised by my British Gramma,” and “So far. It’s a little hot though.”

That last one got a few amused chuckles and the conversation changed to the differences between northern and southern weather. It was kind of pleasant, even if I did have to assure them multiple times that, no, Wisconsin is not just a frozen tundra broken up by the occasional bar or dairy farm.

They weren’t ready to know the truth.

Things only took a turn when one of them asked why I lived with Gramma. It’s not like I’m ashamed of my lack of parents, but it’s really not an acceptably light topic for a first conversation. Luckily, Mr. Regent, a short, dark haired man wearing a tie covered in puppies, started class just in time to spare me the trouble. Saved by the bell, as it were.

From history to gym, I learned the class was every other day, and alternated every Friday with art class. I even saw Lance again, still looking as sullen as two periods ago, though he appeared less so as the game started. Turns out the class was around the end of the basketball unit and had been split into teams already. Ms. Emmeline, a tall, buff blonde woman with lightly scarred hands and a pixie-bob haircut, took me aside for a short chat on fitness and class policy, apologized for being unable to put me on a team and assured me that I wouldn’t be alone in the next unit. She then had me practice shooting hoops on the side.

This was fine. I wasn’t a great shot, and I didn’t want to screw up my unlucky teammates with my superior lack of skills. I was also lacking in the gym clothes department, but I was already wearing shorts and a tank top, so no problem there.

Moving on to lunch, the food was about what you’d expect from a high school cafeteria: middling to terrible. Of the three options, I chose the chicken patty and French fries. It’s nearly impossible to screw up breaded chicken and baked-slash-fried potato shards. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past them to find a way, but I prefer to hedge my bets. Also, I refuse to touch school “pizza.” I don’t care what anybody says, that Styrofoam slat covered in what allegedly passes for cheese isn’t meant for human consumption. Maybe as animal repellent? God knows the smell keeps me away.

After lunch came my elective class, world mythology. The teacher Mr. Taru was a younger man, probably in his late twenties, who walked with a bounce in his step. I was happy to find that the class was working on Greek mythology, something I’d read quite a bit of as a kid. Mr. Taru seemed genuinely happy to see me, and even happier to find I had prior knowledge.

The class was spent on a jeopardy style review game on the various gods in the pantheon, and it ended with a tie between the two teams, leaving everyone with the prize of our choice of “fun” sized chocolate. The class was already worth any homework that would follow.

On the subject of following, Math came soon after the taste of peanut butter regretfully faded from my tongue. The teacher announced a surprise quiz and pulled me to the side for a short chat.

“Ewan, it’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry to spring this on you your first day, but I read your transcript and I’m sure you can handle it. Just come to me if you need help with anything, okay bud?”

I nodded. I was relieved to have someone so nice teaching me math. And so much younger than the last I’d had! My last teacher, Mr. Graham, had been a sixty-year-old fossil that still insisted the calculator was unnecessary and that anybody who had trouble understanding his class just wasn’t trying hard enough.

“Thank you, I’ll remember that m-… Mi-?”

The teacher chuckled. “Mx, actually. Mx. Angel. And don’t worry, plenty of people have trouble grasping it. You’re off to a good start.” And with that they handed me the quiz and sent me back to my desk.

Aside from the algebraic ambush they’d sprung on me, I found myself liking the teacher, even as I struggled through a question about what Joe should buy, twenty watermelons from Dave or two sets of ten from Steve. As we worked, Mx. Angel idly doodled on the whiteboard. I couldn’t see what it was they were drawing, but they seemed intent on getting the details right, occasionally stopping to rub their close shaved, purple dyed hair in thought, or idly pulling at the loosely hanging strap of their suspenders.

It turns out they’d been doodling some kind of commando kitten, complete with what appeared to be a yarn grenade. It looked absolutely horrible. Funny too. It definitely explained why they were teaching math and not art.

Either way, they seemed proud of it, and the chuckles from the class as it was presented with ecstatic jazz hands indicated it was a regular performance. We soon moved onto reviewing the conversion of percentages, and the teacher assigned twenty-odd questions from the book. Not bad for one of my least favorite classes.

Finally, all that was left was science class, taught by one Mrs. Klein, a tiny, dark haired woman with a hawkish appearance and an odd mix of scars and wrinkles covering her face and arms. She moved about with the kind of jerky precision that belied the effects aging has on a trained, capable person. She reminded me a bit of my grandmother in that regard.

She also wasted no time in getting down to business.

“You may be new, but I still expect you to complete the assignments and pay attention in class. No food, no talking while I talk. If I see your phone, you’re welcome to ask the principal for it back. Take a book from the shelf and sit down at table four. They’ve needed a fourth member for a while now.” She then waved me off and began setting up the projector, quickly walking back and forth between it and her desk.

I followed her instructions and took my seat, smiling at my tablemates as I dropped my bag down. I made a mental note to ask someone in the office for my locker number whenever the chance presented itself. For some reason it hadn’t been printed on my schedule and I didn’t want to bother them in the middle of the day.

I shared my table with three girls, two of which smiled back. They were both very pretty, the first on my left with long, wavy, strawberry blonde hair, wearing a bright yellow strapless top with a tight jean skirt. The second, sitting in the middle, had light brown hair pulled into a high ponytail and her bangs pushed behind on ear. She wore a light purple blouse and a silver heart pendant. Both girls smiled at me, greeting me with quiet interest.

The third girl didn’t look at me, instead continuing to sketch in her notebook. Her hair was long too, but the sides were shaved and it hung to the right, smoothed off into a thick, chocolate brown sheet that half covered her face. She wore a black shirt with a silver skull emblazoned upon the front, black shorts and a pair of black running shoes. She drummed her purple nails on the table as she paused in her work, staring intensely at the paper before her.

“It’s nice to have you at our table.” The blonde girl said with a friendly smile. You’re the new kid, right?” She gestured across the table. “I’m Stacia, this is my bestie Grace, and that’s Olivia. We call her Liv.”

“Hello.” Grace said with a nod. Olivia didn’t respond, though I could have sworn she made a quiet retching noise at the back of her throat. Must have been my imagination.

“Yeah,” I said, smiling back. “I just moved here. My name’s Ewan, it’s nice to meet you.”

“I hear you moved here from Wisconsin.” Stacia said in a hushed tone, leaning forward. “Did your Grandma commit a crime?”

Well that was certainly one way to greet someone. Odd, I hadn’t expected anyone in this class to know about me yet.

“We heard you lived with your grandmother.” Grace clarified quietly.

Well that explained things. News must travel fast here.

I shook my head. “No, we’re not in trouble or anything, Gramma moved us here for work. We’re the live-in caretakers for Mister Asher.”

Both girls froze, eyes wide. Olivia briefly glanced up at me, then back down to her art.

“What?”

“No talking!” Mrs. Klein was surprisingly loud for such a small, shriveled woman. “Interrupt again at your own peril.”

Neither said a word, and I gave my attention to the discussion at hand. Mrs. Klein’s voice was strong and commanding, and she was incredibly knowledgeable. I didn’t see her look at her notes once as she told us about the difference between plant and animal cells. Eventually though, she turned projector off and the lights on, and instructed us to fill out the worksheets she was handing out. I caught a bit of a glare as I took mine, but she didn’t say anything.

I got to work on the vocab matching and made it about halfway through the sheet before the two spoke to me again.

Grace whispered to me from the corner of her mouth. “So does that mean you know Lance?”

“Barely.” I murmured back, not looking up. “I just met him today.”

“You should stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

I blinked and looked up at her. She looked dead serious.

“What? Why?”

Grace shook her head. “Just trust me. Everybody knows he’s no good.” Stacia nodded enthusiastically but stopped as Mrs. Klein looked back our way. And, as I was certain was normal, Olivia ignored us, finished her worksheet and returned to working on her drawing.

The rest of class was spent in relative silence, only broken when Mrs. Klein began a class discussion on the answers. This took up the remainder of the time and before I knew it, class was over, as was my first day. Stowing my papers and standing up, I could finally catch a glimpse of the project Olivia had been working on for so long.

It was a girl with a sad smile and long, silver hair pulled back into a high ponytail by a black ribbon. She had on a worn out, gothic styled dress, and a black, branching circlet adorned her head. A single, gleaming dagger was held in her hand, and she looked almost-

“Oh! I like your drawing of Eir. She’s one of my favorites, what about you?”

Olivia started, looking up at me with what appeared to be apprehensive confusion drawn across her face. Silence hung between us for a moment as she appeared to ponder what to say. Well, not real silence, other people around us were talking pretty loudly, and the sounds of chairs being moved and papers being stuffed into binders was fairly distinct, but we didn’t say anything.

I can’t say I blamed her for it though, I hadn’t expected to meet another FEH fan either. Heck, for all the people that seemed to play the game, I’d never one in real life.

Finally, she nodded.

“Yes, I like her design. Though I’d really like to see her fleshed out more in the future.” And with that she stood up, packed away her things, and walked out of the classroom.

“Wow, you got her to speak.”

I turned to look at Stacia and Grace, who had apparently been standing there watching the entire time.

I smiled nervously. “I hope I didn’t upset her, she left pretty quickly.”

Stacia frowned. “Liv just does that. I have no idea what her damage is. She’ll barely talk to us, and we’ve gone to school together for years.” She then broke into a smile. “But enough about the loser, tell us more about you! Do you miss Wisconsin? Did you leave your girlfriend behind?” Her eyes glinted. “Were you torn apart by your family? Did you swear to talk every day you’re apart?”

I chuckled and started walking to the door. They followed.

“Heh, sadly there’s no such tragedy. I do miss my friends, but there’s no girlfriend. I’m single.” _Probably will be forever._

“Hm, that’s a shame. You’re pretty cute too.”

“O-oh, really? Thanks!” My face felt hot, but it was a better kind this time.

Stacia’s eyes glinted, and Grace smiled, seemingly knowing where this was going.

“I mean, I already have a boyfriend, but it seems sad you’re all alone here. With your cute face and your accent, we could probably set you up with one of our friends. As a kind of welcoming present.” A small smile played at her lips. “Melissa said you were a nerdy kind of charming in English today.”

In the back of my mind, I recognized Melissa as the name of the girl whose monotone had made my ears bleed. A deeper part of me screamed in horror.

I smiled apologetically, dodging around a group of students coming down the hall.

“That’s… I mean that’s incredibly nice of you, but I don’t think it would work out very well. Thanks for the offer though, it’s one of the nicest I could have asked for.”

The two frowned, and Stacia started chewing on her thumbnail.

“I’m not sure why you wouldn’t want my help, you’d be so much happier here with a girl. I even have a friend in mind who’s definitely interested.”

The sudden shift in demeanor bothered me, but I didn’t want to be rude. Still, it would be best to just end this as soon as possible, before things got weird. Well, weirder. Was this normal down here?

I shrugged. “Well it’s not that I like being alone, I just don’t think it would work out between her and me.”

Her face darkened. “And why not?”

“Well I mean, it’s partially because I really don’t know her well enough to go out with her yet.” Or at all really. I smiled brightly. “But it’s mostly because I’m gay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all can fight me on the school pizza bit, that crap is disgusting on the most basic level.


	4. On My Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Run-ins of all kinds and somebody's really dumb.

There exists a phrase in the English lexicon you may be familiar with. “Hot as hell.” I don’t think it needs much explanation, considering everyone who wasn’t born and raised in the arctic circle knows what hot weather is, and the concept of hell has been shared with most of the world by some very dedicated Christians. It’s not a new term.

Now, “hot” is kind of a subjective term when used to describe things. Outside of the scientific use (which I won’t get into) everyone has their own definition of what truly constitutes “hot,” be they describing food, people or the temperature outside. Personally, I had been raised in the Midwest, where summers were hot, humid and buggy. The highest I’d experienced, not counting humidity, had been just over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, which I and many others had considered hot as hell.

I was wrong. I was so, so very wrong.

Hell is so much worse. Hell is dry. Hell is walking outside and watching as a local actually succeeds in frying an egg by leaving a pan on the ground. Hell is one hundred and twenty degrees with no clouds, no trees to provide shade, dust drying your throat with every breath and nothing but fucking asphalt and brick buildings that don’t so much as sit in the heat as they absorb and radiate it back like a thousand smaller, spiteful suns.

In short, hell is the city of Pueblo, Arizona, the sun-scorched wasteland through which I found myself walking home. Whoever decided to spread the lie that a dry heat was somehow better deserved to be punched by an angry gorilla.

Well, in the interest of fairness, it wasn’t really a wasteland, though it was much closer to it than anything I’d ever seen in my life. People did live here, for reasons that I’m sure made perfect sense once you were down with heatstroke, and there was even a bit of plant-life: Cacti and shrubs. That’s right, the only two plants besides dandelions that can grow in hell, and I had both in spades everywhere I looked.

Lucky me.

I wasn’t kidding when I mentioned the egg thing, by the way. As I walked home through the downtown, I actually saw two people frying an egg on the sidewalk, one holding the pan and one filming it with his phone. It looked absolutely disgusting.

They didn’t even add salt.

Other than the sidewalk chefs there wasn’t a lot to speak of in the city of Pueblo, or at least not on my route home. There were banks and bars, a game shop, two or three tattoo parlors, a vet, a pet store, a few gas stations and at least five fast food places we didn’t have back up north, including “What’s a Burger?” and “That One Chicken Place Not From Kentucky,” which should really get a shorter name. And everything radiated heat like an overachieving oven.

It wasn’t a bad walk though, at least I got to get a better look at my surroundings, now that I wasn’t panicking inside a car. I definitely preferred running or walking as my mode of transportation. Running was better, but I wouldn’t risk jogging in heat like this, not with the sun pounding mercilessly down. I was going to have to either start getting up extremely early or make time in the evenings if I wanted to keep my daily running schedule.

I pondered the merits of an early run the next morning as I followed my path out of the downtown area and up a hill to the neighborhood I now called my own. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but it was a remarkably pretty place. Or at least well taken care of.

The houses were all painted pastels, the lawns all the special kind of green you get from obsessive maintenance by people with nothing better to do with their time. Flower patches dotted various properties, as did window flower boxes, all with the same two or three varieties of flowers, in similarly pastel shades. There were even white picket fences around a half-dozen of the yards I walked by. Presumably, this was to keep within the assigned aesthetic of “Stepford boredom.”

The whole neighborhood just seemed weird to me. I mean, I knew areas like this existed, but it was so different from back home, where each house looked like it was drawn by an eight-year old, where yards were all different sizes, and where you could see a plastic jungle gym next door to a six foot fence that kept in the owner’s three sheepdogs. Uncoordinated it may have been, but you couldn’t deny it was at least interesting to look at. I barely came across another soul as I walked down the street, save for one or two elderly men watering their lawns.

But then, it was four in the afternoon on a Friday, who would be home just yet? And how many people would be dumb enough to walk home in heat like this? Besides yours truly, of course.

“I’m probably the weird one around here.” I said to myself, wiping the sweat from my forehead. Frowning, I looked down at myself to my clothes, at my light blue tank top decorated with a starry sky and my dark shorts and running shoes, then back up at the pastel houses and perfectly kept lawns. “Yup,” I decided, “I’m definitely the weird one.”

Finally though, the familiar sight of The Asher House greeted me, a signifier of the end to my desert trek. And it took me a moment to fully appreciate just how nice his house was, from the outside this time.

Sitting at the end of a cul-de-sac with a cactus patch in the center, the house was a pale, sun-bleached red, two stories tall and change and had an American flag attached to a pole on the rightmost of the two wooden columns standing before the entrance. The best part though, was the front yard. It had a tree. The only tree in the whole godforsaken neighborhood. A tall, gnarled old oak tree that provided the only real shade for a mile.

And lying down in that shade, clearly unbothered by the heat, what few bugs flitted through the air, or the fact that it probably didn’t belong there, was a cat. A tawny cat with white front paws and a white patch over its left ear. It lay by the roots of the tree, staring back at me with the same look of reserved disinterest worn by every other cat in existence. And it made my entire day.

Immediately, I walked over to the shade and dropped my backpack, plopped down onto my knees and grinned down at it from five feet away. The cat didn’t budge or give any sign I’d disturbed it. It just blinked lazily, unburdened by the weight of the world.

“Well hello there.” I began. “Are you supposed to be here?

The cat didn’t respond, and I eased myself onto my stomach.

“Do you come over here often? Is this your favorite tree?” I thought for a second. “Does Mister Asher feed you? Is that why you’re here?”

I reached out for his paw, and he twitched it back, ever so slightly. He made no motion toward leaving, but I quickly pulled my hand back all the same, determined not to scare it away.

“Hey hey, it’s okay, we’re just friends here, nya?” I chuckled and stretched out, mimicking the cat’s posture. “Just two cool cats hanging out.” And then, possibly because heatstroke had convinced me it was a good idea, I rubbed my face with my hand and meowed. And by the grace of Bast herself, the cat meowed back at me.

Words fail to express the amount of sheer joy this brought about inside of me.

The fact that I then laid there for five minutes meowing back and forth with the cat would probably do it though. Or at least would help the doctors find a diagnosis when someone has me sectioned.

“Blondie? The fuck you doin’ on the ground?”

 _Please no._ I turned to look and, sure enough, Lance Asher was standing in the walkway, backpack hanging from one shoulder, confusion abundant upon his face.

We looked at each other for a minute before I brought a finger up to my lips.

“Sh~. He doesn’t know I’m not a cat yet.”

I don’t think Lance expected that kind of answer. I’m honestly not sure what kind of answer he was expecting, but it was the one he got. And as if to corroborate the utter madness of my statement, the cat flicked its ear in annoyance and left, padding past Lance and out into the street.

I hopped back up and dusted myself off. “Well dang, I guess he caught on. Ah well, it was fun while it lasted.” Picking my bag up, I opened the front door and gestured for Lance to go through. “After you.”

He just stood there, staring at me, expression unreadable.

I gestured again. “The cold air’s escaping dude.”

A moment longer staring, then he shrugged and walked inside.

“Yer a strange kid blondie.” He smirked back at me as he walked into another room. “Strange cat too.”

“And yer a judge-y cowboy.” I replied, copying his accent best I could. Quietly. Then I turned away, headed up the stairs and into my bedroom. I dropped my bag and myself onto the bed, grabbed my pillow and promptly screamed into it until I was sure there was no sound left anywhere inside.

Lance saw me. Again. Once again I was being my stupid, weird self and he saw me. And this time I didn’t just act the fool, oh no. I had to talk the fool too.

“‘It doesn’t know I’m not a cat yet’ who the FUCK says something like that!” I flopped onto my back and rubbed my eyes. “God, why do I always have to be so weird? It’s like I’m hard wired to embarrass myself!”

In all honesty, I wasn’t entirely sure why I was feeling so ashamed about it, I’d done weirder things in front of more people back home with Cinder and Nadya. Maybe that was it though. Back home… scratch that, back north at my OLD home, I was never alone in my weirdness, I’d always had accomplices. Here though…

My phone went off suddenly and I nearly fell off the bed as the high energy, digitized sound of my ringtone shattering my moment of self-reflection.

The composer of the music had described it as sounding like being “heroically punched in the face,” and at that moment I certainly felt like I’d been hit by something.

“'Lo?” I answered.

“'Hi,’ loser. The word you’re looking for is ‘hi.’”

How is it possible to feel both insulted and happy at the same time? It was a mix I regularly felt when conversing when talking with-

“Nadya.” I replied, careful to hide my joy behind a thin veneer of false annoyance. “I think the word I’m looking for is ‘bastard,’ what do you think?”

Nadya chuckled softly. I could hear other people talking in the background, which faded with the slamming of a door, probably for her bedroom.

“Ooh, pulling out the ‘B’ word. You think you’re real tough, doncha?”

“Tough enough to call you what you are. Speaking of calls…” I leaned back against the headboard. “What brought this one on? I thought you hated talking on the phone.”

I could almost hear her shrug. “I do, but it’s easier to keep a secret when there’s no trail to follow.”

“Uh… secret?”

Nadya sighed. “Did you pack the Bone Conduction Headphones when you left? I can’t find the stupid things here and Cinder’s birthday is in a couple weeks.”

“Shitbiscuits!” I hissed, hopping off the bed and running over to the boxes in the corner of my room to tear desperately through them as Nadya yelled at me over the speakerphone. I couldn’t believe I’d completely forgotten about Cinder’s birthday, present and all.

“I can’t believe you took them with you!” She screamed. “And then you LOST THEM?”

I kept digging. “It’s not my fault! And it’s not like you remembered them either!”

“You’re supposed to be the smart one! You kept them at your place so they WOULDN’T get lost you dolt!”

“They’re not lost!” I yelled back, tossing an empty box aside. “I just don’t exactly know where they are is all!”

“That is the very definition of lost!” She made a sound that might have been a deep breath. “Dammit Ewan, those were expensive!”

She was right of course. One hundred dollars might not seem like a lot, but neither of us had a lot of money, even pooling our resources as we had. It had been especially hard for Nadya, since her parents didn’t give her much of an allowance. We’d ended up doing odd jobs for friends and family for over a month before we’d gotten the cash necessary to order the headphones. And even then, we barely had enough for shipping along with it.

“I know, I know. I’m really sorry Nadya, but with everything going on, it really just slipped my OH MY GOD I FOUND IT!” I yanked the headphones out from a box filled with various wires and electronics, mostly for gaming. Plus a pair or two of my own headphones. It must have made sense to put it in there during the moving haze. Heck, it made a certain sense now.

Nadya sighed, heavy enough to distort the audio. “Oh thank god. I thought I’d have to kill you as a make-up present.”

I snorted and picked my phone back up. “I somehow doubt Cinder would appreciate it as much, but it’s nice you’re thinking of her.”

“Well somebody has to. It’s not like you’re here to help.” I blinked. She sounded legitimately bitter.

“Hey Nadya…” I trailed off, not sure what to say. Was there anything I could say to make things better? I hadn’t even done anything. Not on purpose anyway. It wasn’t like moving was my choice.

“So yeah, send back up asap. I’m talking priority shipping, none of that snail BS. I want it before she turns thirty.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, really? And here I figured there was no deadline for a birthday present.”

“And that’s why you’re hopeless without my advice, you weird little loser.”

I growled, but my heart wasn’t really in it. Her words gave me pause, if only for a moment. “…Hey, Nadya?” 

“Yeah?”

“Uh… I guess it’s not important.”

“Nope, you tell me that shit now while I’m not too busy to pretend I care.”

Sigh. She was really very charming sometimes.

“Do you… think I’m weird? Like, weirder than most people?”

Silence hung in the air for one… two… three seconds…

“Is that some kind of joke?”

“Excuse me?”

“Hoh boy, hang on a sec.” Nadya was probably rubbing her forehead. She tended to do that when she was frustrated. Or when someone was particularly stupid. I was really hoping it was the former. “What brought this up? This incredibly stupid question.”

“Uhm… hypothetically… and I’m not saying this happened of course.”

“Of course not.” She deadpanned. “But what?”

“What if I laid down under a tree and meowed back and forth with a stray cat until the apparently delinquent son of Gramma’s employer saw me and called me out on it?” The words all came out in a rush, only to be met with dead silence on the other end.

“After being caught dancing in his kitchen when we first moved in?”

More silence.

“You know. Hypothetically.”

The silence stretched out for a moment longer before what sounded like a strangled cow made its way through the phone.

“Nadya? Are you okay?”

Another tortured sound, followed by a choked “I’m fine!”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you laughing at me?”

I was surprised she was able to make a noise like that. It sounded incredibly painful. She finally forced out the words “Trying not to” before she had to take a break to breathe deeply.

“Anything else?” She finally sounded normal.

“Yeah, I told one of the girls I couldn’t date her friend cause I’m gay.”

Nadya screeched like a pterodactyl and, judging from the sound on the line, either fell off her bed or dropped her phone in laughter.

This conversation wasn’t going very well.

“Are you done?” I asked, now that the laughter had ended and the desperate wheezing had faded into mild panting.

“Yeah. Yeah I’m done. God Ewan, I didn’t think you’d try to kill me already. I thought I had a few years before you snapped.”

“Ha ha. Ha. I’m so happy my life supplies you endless mirth.”

She snorted. “See, that’s one of the things that makes you weird. Along with everything else about you.”

I put on a show of mild shock. “Oh wow, you have a list? Well, let me just grab my notepad here, then you can tell me everything!”

“Well since you asked…” I hated when Nadya sing-songed like that. It meant she was about to be especially… her.

“Sarcasm Nadya. It was sarcasm.”

“Ignoring you.” She sang again. “Lets see, where to start? You’re an orphaned gay kid who lives with his british grandma, talks with half an accent, has weird golden eyes-“

“Amber, Nadya.” I corrected, though I knew it was pointless. We’d had this talk dozens of times. “The color is amber.”

“-Is best friends with a deaf girl and a Muslim,” She continued, unabated. “Talks to cats in their own language, runs for fun and not because you’re being chased, and who served me my birthday cake in a pillow fort. In junior year of high school.”

“You didn’t seem to have an issue with it then.” I protested.

She snorted again. Didn't that get painful? “Not the point. I think you’re well beyond ‘weird,’ dumbass. I think you’re weird, crazy, really kind of stupid sometimes-”

“I get it, I’m an idiot.”

“-and one of the best, least horrible people I’ve met in my life that I miss every-fucking-day that you’re not here.” She finished.

Oh. I hadn’t expected that last part. My throat tightened.

“N-nadya I-”

“Hah! I bet that made you cry, didn’t it?”

And~ she ruined it. Big shock there. “No!” I snapped, squeezing my phone in my hand. “No, you didn’t.”

“Hah! Now I’m not the only one with tears on their cheeks!” She chuckled again, and I could picture the smirk on her face. I’d certainly seen it enough.

“But seriously,” she said. “Don’t worry too much about being weird, it’s why we love you. Worry about being gay instead.”

How could she make me feel both happy and sick at the same time? Nadya had a real talent. “Thanks, I guess. And yeah, I probably shouldn’t have come out so soon. But I mean… should I really have to hide it? It’s not like it was all that terrible in Wisconsin, how bad can a school year in Arizona be?”

Nadya made a retching noise. “God, it’s only gotten worse here. You were probably just lucky, plus you had us watching your back. Just three losers together.”

I smiled sadly. “We weren’t losers, just different. And I’ll be fine, I’ve got Gramma here.”

“That woman is terrifying. You know she scares my dad? That guy she punched came to him for legal action, and dad outright tried to convince him not to.”

I laughed and hopped off the bed. “Yeah, she’s a real terror. I’ve got nothing to worry about. Anyway, I’m going out for a run soon, so I’ll text you guys later.”

“Sure thing, you freak.” I could practically hear her eyes roll. “You go kill yourself in the heat. I’ll give a beautiful speech at your funeral.”

I sniffed haughtily. “Like I’d allow you to make fun of me in front of a crowd like that. Cinder will be the only one talking there.” I buffed my nails on my shirt. “I suppose I could allow you to be her interpreter, if you must speak.”

“Last I checked, dead people don’t get a say in shit. Now go on that stupid run and text us if you survive.”

Snickering, I walked over to my dresser and pulled out a change of clothes. “Sure thing. I can’t wait to tell Cinder all about how you comforted me and said all those nice things.” All two of them.

“I deny any and all slanderous lies.” Nadya deadpanned and hung up the phone.

“Nah,” I said into the dead receiver. “You love me.”

I started to change but stopped when my phone buzzed again. It was a text from Nadya, which simply read **No I don’t.**

How the hell did she do that?

Sadly, Gramma decided to make a liar of me, as she got home soon after my talk with Nadya and decided for me that homework should come first, but not before “requesting” that I help her with dinner, to which I was not at all forced to agree to. At least there aren’t many ways to embarrass myself in the kitchen. I mean, besides the ways I already had. But Gramma doesn’t allow “raucous silliness and gleeful idiocy” when cooking, so chances were slim I’d be a repeat offender, at least for today.

The plan was to make roast beef with potatoes and carrots, drizzled with gravy and served with a salad and (for Gramma, if no one else) wine. I had my doubts over whether she’d allow Mr. Asher to have any wine, but you could never really tell with her. She insisted that drinking a small amount of wine each day is what kept her young and healthy, so maybe she would let him drink something. After all, she was being paid to keep him healthy, and she wouldn’t want to be made a hypocrite, now would she? Sadly, I didn’t consider it in my best interest to verify that and decided to focus on preparing the food instead.

Gramma put me on veggie duty, meaning peeling and cutting while she prepared the beef, removing it from the marinade she’d made the night before and treating it with salt, pepper, and a variety of other spices that she claimed made up her secret combo for perfectly seasoning any meat, no matter the source. I wanted to argue that such a thing was impossible, but I didn’t know enough about cooking to be sure. Plus, who was I to argue with results? Her food was delicious, plain and simple.

Meanwhile, I worked my way through a small collection of potatoes and carrots, quickly swiping the skins off piece by piece with the peeler provided.

“Tsk. Still unprofessional I see.”

I stuck my tongue out and kept peeling.

“I’d like to see you do better.” I said, watching a peel fly past the garbage and to the floor. “No really, I’d love to. It would be so much faster.”

“If you’d bothered to learn how to peel the proper way, then you might get on without needing me to rescue you.” She pulled up a stool, brandishing her own peeler upon an unsuspecting potato. Unlike my erratic flicking method, she steadily pulled the peeler inwards, dragging it along the outside of the root vegetable in a single, fluid motion. In the time it took me to finish my own potato, she’d sloughed off the skin in one long strand and moved onto the next. “See? All it takes is practice and patience.”

“Well I mean, you just have so much more of both. You’ve had the time for it after all…”

Gramma tossed one of my peels at my face, landing it smack dab on the bridge of my nose.

“Smartarse.” She growled, pointing her peeler menacingly in my direction. “Don’t think I won’t make you peel every vegetable for the next week, I could always use the extra help in the kitchen.”

I put my hands up in surrender, shaking the peel from my face as I laughed. “Alright alright, no need to get mean.” I chuckled. “No more age jokes. You’re as sprightly as always Gramma.”

She nodded in satisfaction and picked up the next potato. “Bloody right I am. Get to work on the carrots, we want to eat before you’re older than me, don’t we?”

“Yes Ma’am!” I saluted, snatching up the carrots and setting to work. I had no doubt she would find a way to live long enough to see me become a stooped old man. Heck, she’d probably outlive me if she had her way. If not by health, then by pure spite and determination. Seriously, do not mess with tough old ladies.

The next few minutes passed in silence, filled only by the sound of metal scraping vegetable. I began to find my rhythm, working through the carrots faster and faster with each passing minute.

“How are Cinder and Nadya doing?”

I slipped and skinned my finger. “Shitbiscuits.” I hissed in pain.

Gramma tutted, checking my hand. “Language Ewan. Wash and cover that.”

“Fine.” I said, standing up to bandage my finger. “Crapcookies then.”

She sighed and kept peeling. “I suppose that’s better. So how are they?”

I shrugged. “They miss me. There’s not much to say.” I frowned, suddenly thinking back to my call with Nadya. “Although…”

“Yes?”

“I think… Nadya seems a little angry. Do you think she blames me for the move?”

Gramma sighed again. “I don’t know Ewan, that girl is a mystery sometimes. But I do know people process their grief in different ways.” I sat back down and she took my hand, examining the my handiwork. “That looks fine.” She said with a nod. “Nadya’s a smart girl. She knows this isn’t your fault, just as she knows how much you care about her. Stay connected, and she’ll come around.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Gramma.”

“Of course child. What good is aging if you can’t offer advice?

The rest of the cooking went rather quickly as we finished peeling and cutting the veggies and stuck the completed dish in the oven to roast for the next two hours. Gramma then insisted we do the dishes, and then sent me straight on to my homework, of which there was only mild protesting.

“I have all weekend to get it done!” I claimed.

“And now you have five minutes to get started on it.” She replied.

And in the spirit of time, I decided to do math first. You know, so my time with it would be as brief as possible. And really, doing just the odd numbered questions of a single section really wasn’t that bad of an assignment, but it was in the noble spirit of protesting the unjustness of the world that I grumbled my way through each and every question. I’m practically a hero, really.

Some time, half a playlist and much griping later, I’d managed my way through math, science and history, leaving only mythology and English to do… some other time. Whenever I decided my weekend needed a little more boredom add in for flavor.

Speaking of flavor, it was probably close to time for the roast to be finished, so I slipped my headphones around my neck and sauntered downstairs, and who should I run into but Mr. Asher, ambling his way toward the kitchen.

His face lit up when he saw me.

“Greetings, young Ewan. How are you this fine evening?”

I smiled. “Howdy Mister Asher, it’s nice to see you again. I’m pretty good. Better now that I’m done with homework for the night.”

“A studious young man I see.” He laughed. “But please, call me Daniel. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Oh. Sure thing mi- Daniel.” I stuttered. “Are you headed to the kitchen?”

“Dining room actually. Your grandma told me to make my way there, said the food would be ready by the time I sat down.” He laughed again, a hearty guffaw that warmed the room. “It’s nice to see that time hasn’t dulled that sharp tongue of hers.”

“That’s a fairly nice way of telling me my Gramma is a mean old lady.”

He blinked in surprise. “I would never say such a thing Ewan. Your grandmother is an intense, passionate woman who is very…”

“Mean.” I finished with a sly grin.

He sighed. “Okay yes, admittedly she can be a little mean sometimes. But you know it comes from a place of love. And that odd British tendency to subsist on the darkest, bitterest humor the world can muster.”

“Laughing at the void.” I agreed and walked with him into the dining room, where Gramma was waiting with food and a tapping, impatient finger.

Dinner went well. Lance didn’t show up, which peeved my grandma, but Mr. Asher assured us that Lance was often out late on Friday nights, and there was no reason to worry. I feel Gramma would have argued that, but I guess she felt it wasn’t her place to tell him how to raise his son. Instead, we sat and chatted about my first day in school, about my classes, and just generally what I thought of the new palace of education I’d found myself in this day. I decided to leave out my coming out, if only to simplify matters. I didn’t need anyone worrying about me unless it became a problem.

Who knows? It might not even blow up in my face.

After dinner, I helped clear the table, wash the dishes, then waited another hour for good measure, allowing my dinner to settle before I changed into my “escape the calories” shirt and some gym shorts and headed out, having already cleared my run with the head of the house over dinner.

I’d waited more than long enough, it was time to get moving. And after taking just one moment more to stretch out my arms and legs, I took off.

Running is one of those weird things people do that they think they know how to do well, but they really don’t. I can’t blame them really, after all it comes naturally to us as children. Once we figure out how to walk without a sudden, intimate reintroduction to the ground, nature just sort of takes its course and we speed up until we’re going everywhere as fast as we can.

Humans, children especially, love speed. We’re built to run; evolution having given us the most efficient body known to nature for endurance and distance. And with that you would think it would be easy. Easy to run, easy to figure out how to do it well. Well it isn’t. And it all comes down to two things: pacing and form.

Pacing is the most obvious, just don’t go all out at once. You want to start at a pace you feel comfortable holding, and then continue to hold it for a long time. That’s why when most people say “I’m going for a run,” what they mean is “I’m going to move at a speed a little over a jog until my lungs threaten to explode and I have to take a break.”

“Going for a run” is just quicker to say.

Then there’s form. Form is what can really make or break your exercise, determining the kind of damage you may or may not end up doing to yourself as you run. Discounting who or what you may run into, of course. To simplify, you want to lean forward, compact your movements to minimize the energy you expend, and try to land on the tip or midsection of your foot, to avoid injuring your ankle.

Oh, and breathe. Deep, slow breaths in and out, try not to hyperventilate, you’ll just exhaust yourself faster with low quality oxygen.

Yeah, remember to breathe, it’s kind of important.

With all this in mind, I sailed down the street, past the pastel houses with eighty percent of their occupants watering their lawns now that the sun was going down. Past the first gas station on the edge of the neighborhood, and past the absurdly tall cactus that had a cowboy hat on for reasons unknown to man.

I ran into the downtown area, past a group of very happy, very loud drinkers. They shouted something as I flew by, but I couldn’t make it out over my music. I passed a couple walking their dog, a yappy little bastard that nipped at my heels with an attitude entirely too big for its tiny frame. And I ran past the owner of what appeared to be a small family restaurant, locking up after what had assuredly been a very long day.

Finally, I stopped at my first red light and looked around, breathing heavily in the cool night air. The city was really kind of pretty, now that I could take the time to look around without fear of heatstroke. Shadows cast by streetlights crawled up old brick buildings as neon reflected in the smudged glass of storefront windows, casting light and color around in an intricate dance of refracted images. Pulling my earbuds out, I could hear the people around me talking, laughing, arguing, that one guy sobbing over the taco he dropped on the ground… it felt more alive now than it had all afternoon. And the cooler air definitely helped to improve my mood, now that each breath wasn’t a fight with the sun itself. It felt… peaceful.

It didn’t last. I don’t know why, but after walking along, taking in the sights, sounds and various smells that naturally arise from the activities of a Friday night, I decided to turn down an alleyway. Well, that’s not entirely true. I’d wandered a bit far downtown, and I figured I could get home faster by cutting through. I just don’t know why I thought it was a good idea. I don’t know why anybody who’s seen a single movie in their life would think it’s a good idea to cut through the backstreets at night, but I’m sure it made perfect sense at the time. All I know is that one minute I was walking down a nearly abandoned street, and the next I was strolling between buildings, the lamplight fading behind me as I walked further in. At least there was some light, provided by a single lantern every fifty or so feet.

I’d fully expected to just come out on the other side of the block on a new street, just pop out and find all the people again, or at the very least get my bearings. The bearings I couldn’t possibly have, since it was my first time exploring the town. And it was dark out. And I was stupid.

That didn’t happen. Instead I discovered that what I had thought was a normal alleyway was actually located in one of those extra-large city blocks, the ones twice the size of every block around them for no other reason than “well it seemed like a good idea at the time.” You know, one of those mistakes of city planning that are impossible to justify to people used to a grid system. So the alley didn’t connect two streets, it met at a crossroads of three other alleyways for absolutely no good reason.

Well I was positively thrilled. And then I was terrified as a loud crash sounded from around the corner, followed by angry shouting. Reflexively I pressed up against the wall, happy for the cast shadows for the first time that night. Standing where I was, hopefully, safely hidden away, I listened.

The first man spoke up, his voice echoing through the buildings around us. “You really think you can just come in here after what you did?” He snarled.

“Fuck you Luke, my family lives here! You fucks got no right to try stop me seeing them you cocksucking mother-!” The second man broke off into a huffing gasp and a pained retch. I couldn’t see anything, but it sounded like one of them hit him in the stomach.

“We were your family. And then you threw us away.” The third man sounded far more controlled. Still angry, but the calm variety of angry. You know, the kind dangerous people tend to be. “You don’t to walk away in one piece.”

The second man started to say something again, but was cut off, presumably by another painful blow. He let out a wheeze and broke into a fit of wet coughs.

The brickwork bit into my fingertips as my grip tightened. This was sounding worse and worse, and I didn’t want to be anywhere near these guys if they found out I was listening in on them. Still, I couldn’t just leave the poor guy to be beaten to death, could I? Maybe I could distract them, make them think it wasn’t safe to continue? I’d need to know what I was dealing with though, and that meant I’d need to see them.

Ho boy. Sometimes the things you think up are so obviously stupid that you wouldn’t expect anybody to actually try them. And then you do them. If you pull it off, I believe you get to call it courageous. Let’s just call me brave for doing this, not stupid.

Edging closer to the corner of the wall, I took a deep breath, then a couple more. And then I peeked.

There were four people total, three of them gathered around the fourth, who was crying on the ground as the shortest of the group screamed angrily and kicked at his side. That must have been man one. The other two, both built tall and broad, just watched.

Nope. I pulled my head back and scooted back into the darkness. Nope, I wanted no part in this. I didn’t want that man to get hurt more, but I sure as hell didn’t want to be the next person crying and bleeding. I would get to safety and call the police. And I didn’t care what my conscience was screaming, I wasn’t getting involved. He would probably be okay.

 _I hope_.

Reassuring myself that I wasn’t a horrible person, I turned around to find my way back to the street. And it was right then that I found out there were garbage cans in the alley. I discovered this fact as my foot caught on a loose section of the pavement, sending me hurtling across the ground and into the bins.

Oh Gravity, thou art a heartless bitch. Karma too.

Fire exploded in my knee as I clamped my hand over my mouth, muffling the involuntary exclamation of pain. And the following of fear, as the men around the corner stopped yelling at the poor guy on the ground and instead yelled “The fuck was that?!”

“Ah’ll check it out.” Speaking for the first time, the fourth guy sounded wary. He also already sounded closer than the others.

“Shitshitshitshitshit!” I hissed, desperately looking for a new place to hide. Could I try crawling inside the cans? No, I had to run. I began to stand up, only to collapse again as another jolt of agony shot through my knee.

I was screwed. With nothing left to do, I pressed up against the wall and squeezed my eyes shut.

_Please just be quick!_

The ground crunched under the man’s feet as he rounded the corner and walked close, stopping in front of me. “What the… the fuck are ya doin here?”

I didn’t answer, I just crossed my arms over my head, hoping it would help protect against the coming blows.

“Blondie!” The man hissed, grabbing my arm and effortlessly pulling me to my feet. My knee protested again, less insistently. “Answer me!”

I winced and cautiously opened an eye. Was that…?

Lance stood in front of me, anger and confusion on his face.

“Lance? Why are you-?”

“You!” He hissed, not letting go. “Here. Why?”

I flinched and steadied myself, cautiously testing my weight on my knee. It still hurt, but I’d manage.

“I got lost.” I whispered back. “Why are _you_ here? Why are you…” I stopped talking.

Lance glared down at me, his grip tightening. “How much did you-?”

“Lance, what was it?”

We both jerked as the calmer man called out. He must have been getting impatient.

Lance stared at me. I stared back. And then he let go.

“It’s nothin!” He called back. “Just a cat.” And then he turned and started walking back.

“Wha-”

“Go home, Kitten. And don’t tell anybody.” And then he left, turning the corner and heading back to the group. And with just a second’s hesitation, I started creeping back toward the street, slowly this time to avoid making another mess.

“What took you so long?” The calmer man asked, his voice fading behind me.

“Made sure it was okay, it knocked over the cans.” Lance called back. “I’ve always liked cats. Didn’t want this one to get hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ewan lacks the common sense needed for self-preservation sometimes. Must be a cat thing.
> 
> As always, any feedback is welcome.


	5. Someone Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You ever just have one of those weeks?

The rest of the weekend came and went without issue. I rarely saw Lance, and even when I did it was only in passing. I didn’t bring up the incident to anyone, not even Cinder. I felt it was in my best interest not to bring it up, just in case Lance decided to find me my own dark alley for a “talk.” A decidedly not-fun talk.

I spent the weekend exploring the town and helping Gramma around the house, getting to know Mister Daniel Asher as I went along. Turns out he did write mystery books, but for a variety of age groups, including a cute children’s series called “P.I. Charlie: Puppy Investigator.” It was adorable. I also found out that he used to read to kids in schools when he traveled while writing, which explained everything from the macaroni art to the cowboy hats. Dude got around. Or he used to, before being mainly confined to his home office.

Come Monday, I found myself worrying less and less that I might end up a bloody smear on some nondescript brick wall. It stood to reason that anybody raised by a father as warmhearted as Daniel Asher probably wouldn’t be the type to try to kill me. I hoped.

Which was great for me, because Monday would see the start to one of the hardest weeks in my life. The days in which I became nobody to anybody.

It started small, barely noticeable. Some people brushed by a little too close in the hall, pushing me to the side as they walked past. My feet were stepped on, not too much, but enough that they started to ache by the time I got to class. And once I got there, nobody talked to me.

It wasn’t as noticeable in English, since we just continued on with Romeo and Juliet, taking turns reading, with more and more desperate urges from Mr. Spears to put some real emotion into the reading. By the end of the class though, he seemed to just give up, sitting at his desk and staring at the book as he rubbed his forehead with two fingers.

Another bumpy walk to history, and I found the people around me very conspicuously not looking at me as I sat down. I even tried to strike up a conversation this time, but all I got were noncommittal grunts and side glances. Not even weed-boy would respond. Then again, he didn’t seem to respond to anybody. He just lay with his head on his desk, completely zonked out until Mr. Regent walked in. I had to wonder if he was okay.

Gym was still the same. It was the last week of Basketball, and I was ever the odd man out. Ms. Emmeline asked me to help officiate one of the matches. Two games were played at once with the class split in two, and I guess the other PE teacher, Mr. Saver, was sick. That, and I think she wanted me to be able to take part, one way or another, though I really wished she hadn’t, I barely knew enough of the rules to play, let alone referee a match. Still I tried, and I think I did well enough. I might have goofed once or twice on my calls though because a few guys threw me some dirty looks, including Gavin, who somehow managed to keep his hat on during a full sprint. Aside from that, and people not really listening, not much happened.

Lunch was lunch, I sat alone and ate just as I had on Friday.

Mythology seemed to go well enough, though Mr. Taru informed us that the Greek section would only continue for another week, as we’d be moving on to Egyptian mythology very soon. I was okay with that, though I didn’t know as much about the Egyptian pantheon as I did the Greco-Roman. No other problems arose in class, though I noticed I got a few odd looks from the people next to me when I spoke. I chalked it up to being new.

I didn’t notice anything odd in Algebra, and it went by without a problem, save for a few gentle reminders by Mx. Angel to the kids that it wasn’t “miss” or “mister.” I was impressed by how calm they remained, repeatedly having to remind people of their preferred prefix. It would have driven a lesser person, me for example, absolutely mental.

Finally though, came Science. When everything began to break down.

We were given a simple group assignment, labeling individual sections of plant and animal cells and writing down the differences. It went smoothly enough, considering Olivia didn’t talk much, opting instead to be the one to write it all down. Admittedly, she did have the nicest handwriting between the four of us.

Stacia pointed to the plant cell on the page, tapping its thick outer wall. “This is the cell membrane, right?”

I shook my head. “That’s the cell wall. The membrane is between that and the cytoplasm. I think.” I turned to Grace. “That’s the cytoplasm right under it, yeah?”

She nodded. “Yes, the cytoplasm is under the plasma membrane.” Olivia wrote the terms down and went back to sketching. Today she was working on some angry looking dude with an axe. I was pretty sure he was also from FEH, but now wasn’t the time to ask.

Stacia groaned. “I thought it was called the cell membrane!”

“It is.” I replied, idly scratching at the corner of the paper with my pencil. It felt like this was taking forever, and I really just wanted to be done with class. I felt unusually restless today. “They’re the same thing, just by different names.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

I blinked and looked up. Stacia looked angry.

“I’m sorry.” I replied, pulling my hand back from the paper. “I didn’t mean to be rude.”

She glared for a minute, then huffed and pointed to the animal cell. “So then this is the cell wall.”

“That’s the membrane. Animal cells don’t have cell walls.” I replied reflexively, stupidly.

“Oh my god!” Stacia yelled, shooting up and slapping the table. “I didn’t ask you!”

The class stopped working and turned to look at us, their attention drawn to the sudden outburst of my tablemate. I didn’t like it, being watched like this.

“I’m… sorry?” I replied, not sure how to handle her abrupt change in demeanor.

“Hey!” Mrs. Klein stalked over, slapping the table with a ruler. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered where she got it from, it wasn’t like we used them in class. “Stop yelling in class! Now sit back down and do your work quietly or you’ll lose points!”

“Missus Klein, we can’t work with this woman hater!” Stacia grabbed a seemingly very surprised Grace by the arm, pulling her up as well. “Put us in a different group!”

It took me a moment to process her words, and considerably less time to get angry. I stood up too, hands gripping the edge of the table.

“Woman hater? What the heck did I do?” Angry as I was, I still forced myself to choose my words carefully. I was still new here, and I was also a boy. Yelling at a girl wouldn’t reflect favorably on me, even if completely justified. “All I did was answer your questions!”

“You spoke over Gracie! You think she can’t answer for herself, huh?!”

“I did no such thing! You posed an open question, and I gave you an answer! I even checked with Grace to make sure I was right!”

“He did.” Grace said quietly, looking away uncomfortably. “It’s not a big deal Stacia, let’s just sit back down.”

Stacia though, was having none of that. “See? He’s intimidating her into agreeing with him! He’s a rotten misogynist!” She dramatically pointed to me, her finger mere inches away from my nose.

I narrowed my eyes, trying my best not to raise my voice. It wasn’t going to work. I opened my mouth, ready to tear her head off and hand it back.

“Enough!” Mrs. Klein demanded, smacking the table for emphasis again. “Both of you sit down! I’ll be talking to all of you after the bell!” She glared until we complied, then stalked back to her desk. “Finish your work without disrupting the class.”

And with that, the confrontation was over, at least for the time being. We glared at each other, but didn’t speak. In fact, I stayed silent the entire rest of the class, not even contributing to the assignment. You could almost have mistaken me for Olivia, who hadn’t said a word the entire time. I’d almost forgotten she was there; she was so quiet.

Finally though, class ended and we gathered at Mrs. Klein’s desk, the rest of the class trickling out, shooting us looks that ranged from concerned to amused. This must have been the most interesting thing to happen all day. Shame it had to come at my expense. Mrs. Klein waited until the last student left, watching us over steepled hands.

“I’m sure you must feel you had a perfectly good reason to disrupt the class like that.” She said calmly, tapping her fingertips together. “Unfortunately, I don’t accept excuses for bad behavior. You’ll both be getting detention, and I’ll talk with the principle to decide if further action should be taken.”

We both freaked on her.

“I didn’t even DO anything!” I protested.

“I’m the victim here!” Stacia yelled. “Just ask Liv and Gracie!”

“She just starts freaking out!”

“He started it, he hates women!”

“Called me a misogynist, but I didn’t even-!”

“Enough!” Mrs. Klein brandished her ruler, cutting us off. “I don’t care who started what, you both caused a disturbance. There’s simply no excuse for starting a fight in the middle of my class! I thought you knew better Stacia! And Ewan!” I flinched at her use of my name. It sounded like a cracking whip. “This is only your second day, and you’ve already become a problem!”

“But I didn’t do anything!” I said again, pointing at Stacia. “She just started yelling at me! Why should I be punished for nothing!”

“It’s rude to point.” Mrs. Klein said, cutting off whatever Stacia had been ready to spit back at me. “And you still fought with her and disrupted class. You still get detention.”

My jaw actually dropped at that. “But that’s not fair!”

“What isn’t fair is that you disrupted the other groups with your little squabble. You still have to be punished, as would anyone else who did the same.” She snatched up a pen and scribbled out two detention slips. “That is fairness.”

“But…” I was at a loss for words. I was the victim here, how was any of this considered fair?

Still, there was nothing I could do. I just quietly accepted the detention slip and left. My second day, and I already had a record.

This new school was shaping up to be a beautiful experience.

After a few minutes of searching, I found the dedicated detention room and sat down in a desk, under the watchful eyes of… some female teacher. I didn’t recognize her and didn’t ask who she was. I just gave her my slip and sat down, soon after joined by Stacia.

“Misogynist.” She whispered from the corner of her mouth.

I gaped at her, eyes wide What was this girl’s deal? “Why do you keep calling me that?”

She looked me dead in the eye. “Because everyone knows homos hate women.”

I stared back, unsure of what I could even say to that.

“No talking please.” The teacher said in a tired voice, not looking up from her paperwork.

**So you had to sit next to her for an hour? Thats rough buddy.**

**Are you okay? That sounds awful! ( >_<)**

I smiled at the messages, shielding eyes from the sun with my other hand. It was nice to have someone to vent to, even if I had to burn my fingertips off to get them the whole story. Sometimes life requires sacrifice.

**Yeah** I typed. **I’ll be fine. But I think the whole school knows I’m gay now. Guess I goofed.** I sent a shrug picture for emphasis, complete with a little tongue blep.

**Cant belp your way outta this, your screwed**.

A moment passed. Nadya texted again.

***Blep. Fuck.**

**Language! (*^*) What would your mother say?**

**I dunno. Ewan what would cinder say?**

I laughed, carefully sidestepping a man walking his dog with an apologetic wave. It’s smarter to not text and walk, but intelligence had never stopped me before.

**Hey! ( >_<)**

**Probably something about being nicer.** I could almost feel Nadya’s sense of vindication from across the country.

**See? He left and even he gets it.**

I decided to let that slide as I waved to one of the pastel residents. She waved back from her little flower patch with her tiny spade. Eventually Nadya would let the move go, I was sure of it. Another thing I was sure of? I was in big trouble. Gramma was waiting on the front step of the house, arms crossed and foot tapping. Had she been standing there long? I doubted she would just wait there for the extra hour of detention.

**I think Gramma knows about today too. Wish me luck.**

**Oh dear. (0.0) Good luck Ewan!**

**Try not to die.**

I put my phone away and slowly walked up to the house. Gramma narrowed her eyes and pointed to the door, not saying a word. _Yeah,_ I pondered, slinking inside under the burning gaze of my dearest caretaker. _We’ll see how that goes._

“Detention! On your second day! Best foot forward doesn’t mean the next step should take you off a cliff! A good first impression only helps if it isn’t followed by a disaster!”

I sat on the stool in silence, waiting for Gramma to calm down enough to listen to me. While I understood the metaphor she was going for (I think?) I really didn’t understand why people used it. You only had two feet, so it stands to reason that the second foot would be your worst. Though I doubted idioms were meant to thought about too hard.

“Well?” she finally asked, fists holstered on her hips like the weapons of mass disappointment that they were. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

Her eyes widened in anger. I probably could have chosen better words.

“What I mean,” I placated, putting my hands up in surrender. “Was that I’m innocent. Stacia just freaked out at me over nothing. She called me a misogynist in front of the whole class!”

Gramma narrowed her eyes. “Were you being one?” She didn’t sound suspicious, but I knew the word meant a great deal to her.

“No! All I did was answer her questions about the assignment! But she claimed I was talking over her friend Grace and being a woman hater! All I did was defend myself, but that somehow translates into sharing the blame for Mrs. Klein!” I was starting to get a little too heated for my own comfort. I took a deep breath to calm myself. “It wasn’t a fair situation is all. I was punished for her outburst.”

Gramma sighed and moved to the sink, running a towel over the dishes in the rack. She had a habit of cleaning when she was stressed. Our old house had been kept spotless for this very reason. Life was stressful, even without having to handle both my problems and Mr. Asher’s.

“Did you do anything to upset this girl? Maybe you said something small, something that seemed innocuous at the time.”

_Certainly have, and the lying cunt spread it around the school._

“No, not that I recall.” Gramma didn’t need to know I’d come out on my first day. She’d always been supportive, but she didn’t need this kind of worry on top of caretaking. This was my problem to deal with, no matter how stupid it was.

She huffed and began putting the dishes away. “I don’t know what to tell you Ewan. I should punish you for getting detention, but I clearly don’t have the whole story. I just wish you felt comfortable telling me everything.”

That hurt. “Gramma, I swear I’m not lying.” _Not technically._ “Please don’t be mad.”

Another sigh. She looked at me sadly, tiredly. “I’m not mad, Ewan.”

_Please no._

“I’m just disappointed.”

There it was, the ultimate Grandma move. I slid off my stool and pulled her into a hug. She carefully hugged me back, still holding a plate.

“I’m sorry.” Was all I said.

“I’m sorry too.” She replied, patting my back. “Let’s try to make the rest of the week better, shall we? Prove that girl wrong.”

“I’d like that.”

She laughed. “Good. Now let go, we have dinner to make. School will get better, just you wait. It’s only the second day, you’ll turn it around.”

I pulled back and smiled, straightening out my clothes. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be just fine.”

_I’ll be fine. Things will get better._

It didn’t get better.

I wasn’t sure if people were somehow emboldened by the first day, but things only seemed to get worse. I got more and more looks, both in and outside of class, with more and more of them far less friendly than before. The bumping continued, but I found more making a show of not touching me, as if I were covered in some invisible layer of filth only they could see. I wasn’t sure if this was better or worse, but either way it still felt awful.

Others found themselves validated as well, one of the more notable individuals being Gavin, who seemed to find particular glee in voicing his disdain at every given opportunity.

Mr. Spears switched to calling on individuals to read more in class, sometimes an entire page at a time, and I often found myself being called on, sometimes multiple times in a single class period. I briefly considered reading just like half the class to discourage him. You know, badly. But I decided against it, for the sake of preserving the good opinion he seemed to have of me, and for the sake of my own pride and sanity.

There was no way in hell (which I was beginning to suspect was actually just Arizona by a different name, by the way) that I would read anything with the same level of drab uncaring that some of my classmates did. I didn’t hate any story enough to butcher it like that.

Unfortunately, these reading sessions were prime opportunities for Gavin to have his say.

“Marry, sir, because silver hath a sweet sound!” I read, adding a little extra to the performance.

“Fag.” Gavin muttered, just loud enough for everyone to hear him.

“Not appropriate.” Mr. Spears replied casually. “Why don’t you read next page or so, Gavin?”

Gavin glared back at me before standing to read. I guess he blamed me for his “punishment,” because he seemed extra nasty the next day, following behind me on my way to class a little too close, exuding an aura of menace all the while.

What a lovely guy. Made only lovelier by his apparent inability to actually confront me with his hatred. He was only a little more direct than everyone else. He seemed like he’d get along well with Stacia. They both seemed enjoy making my life worse.

Other classes became just as agonizing. With the apparent consensus being “ignore Ewan,” even trying to communicate with my classmates became a waste of time, with the exception being group work, where obligation forced single word responses from them, lest they suffer the teacher’s wrath. 

I’ll give them this though, they were exceptionally good at hiding things from the teachers. Or maybe the teachers just didn’t care enough to pay attention. Or both who could even say? Science class was particularly egregious in this way, as even though Stacia and Grace had been switched out for another two students, neither seemed happy with the change, and I got the strong sense they blamed me for it. Just another unfairness to add to the pile.

Olivia stayed, but she didn’t seem to mind either way, simply continuing on in silence, barely even speaking when the teacher addressed her. I was a little jealous, in a way. I wished I could be that nonchalant about my days too.

To top it all off, Lance was also refusing to talk to me, at most giving me a subtle nod when I greeted him. At all other times he seemed to just watch me, expressionless and still. I told myself I was imagining it, but I did have to wonder: was he planning something? He’d let me go that night, but what if he regretted it? Or worse, what if he got in trouble for it? He’d probably feel entirely in his right to blame me, to find a way to punish me for my accidental transgression.

I didn’t need this kind of stress, not on top of everything else. I was almost happy he was never around the house. I was beginning to wonder if he even really lived there, though Mr. Asher assured me he simply enjoyed his time out, though he either wouldn’t or couldn’t go into detail.

I wouldn’t let things get to me though. I told myself that it didn’t matter, that such tiny, petty actions couldn’t hurt me. I knew I wasn’t in the wrong, and so, I knew I had no reason to despair. Nothing they said or did could hurt me, of that I was assured.

Yeah, I didn’t believe me either. Everything hurt. Even the weather seemed determined to hurt me, as the heat only continued to rise, stifling my running opportunities even further. I became antsy, unable to focus. Back home, even in winter, I’d never gone this long without sufficient exercise. With everything else, it became suffocating, and I found myself jogging in place in my room, just to keep it under control.

All that really kept me going was an increasingly erratic playlist, mashed together from whatever could improve my mood at the time, and texting my friends. But as the week progressed and I continued venting to them, it became increasingly clear things weren’t all sunshine and roses for them either, and I found a tension forming between the three of us, especially between myself and Nadya. Over the past year, she’d come to more and more conflict with her family, feeling stifled by her place in both society and her religion. Usually when this happened, she would come to us and we would do something to help her calm down, getting ice cream or going to a movie. But now…

Well, I wasn’t there. And Cinder was desperately trying to pick up the slack. But she had her own stresses to deal with, and even a bastion of sunlight and positivity needs her own pillars of support. And one of them was gone now.

On Friday, everything came to a head. After an arduously long day of tests and torment, I found myself in my room, lying on my bed and complaining to my friends once more.

**I just don’t get it. Everyone acts like I have the plague! Am I missing something here, they can’t all be that bad!**

**Nah people are shit in general. Trust me when I say people disappoint.**

**I think people are generally good. Maybe they’re just intimidated by you? (?_?) You might be the first gay person they’ve ever met!**

I frowned at my phone. Statistically, it seemed unlikely that nobody at school had ever met a gay person. Gay, bisexual, trans and nonbinary people were more common than ever if the internet was to be believed. And with the public generally becoming more accepting, less people felt the need to hide themselves away, myself included. And yet…

**Well, it IS the south, so it could be? I’d ask around, but I don’t think anybody would talk to me.**

**Try anyway. You could make a new friend! (\^o^/)**

**I can try, but they don’t seem interested.**

**Maybe they know youll leave them behind.**

That did it. I sat up and began furiously typing with both thumbs. So you know I meant business.

**Okay, seriously Nadya!? I know you’re pissed an all but moving was literally not my fault! Stop treating me like I abandoned you guys!**

**And yet your not here. Funny how that works out.**

**Please don’t fight! (;_;) We’re friends!**

**Are we? Because I don’t think a good friend would be such a bitch to me for no reason! What do you think, bitchya? Sorry, I mean Nadya.**

I glared at my phone, waiting for her reply. Waiting for Cinder to reply. Waiting for anything really.

**I didnt want to be friends with a whiny little fag like you anyway. Why dont you run of and die you sad little shit.**

**WHY DON’T YOU GO COLLAPSE A BUILDING ON YOURSELF YOU NASTY COLDHEARTED CUNT**

**STOP FIGHTING! THIS ISN’T HOW WE TALK TO EACH OTHER!** I could practically hear Cinder screaming through the phone. I almost stopped, worried we might hurt her more than each other. But then…

**No.** Nadya wrote. **if the little shit cant handl it, he can leave.**

Nope.

**FUCK YOU!** I replied.

**FUCK YOU!** Nadya sent back

**FUCK BOTH OF YOU IM DONE! TEXT ME WHEN YOU CAN ACT LIKE ADULTS!** And with that, Cinder dropped out of the group.

**Nice job fukcnig it all up.** Nadya dropped out too, the last word hers and hers alone.

FUCK! I screamed, chucking my phone across the room and slamming my fist onto the mattress. It wasn’t near as satisfying as I’d hoped, so I pounded it again. And then again. I just kept pounding my fists into my bed, a stream of rage-fueled gibberish pouring from my mouth. Threats, swears and vows fell in equal measure as I raged, the growling screams threatening to tear me apart at the seams.

Eventually I stopped, breathing heavy and throat ragged. I was still angry, I was still hurt, but I didn’t have the energy to keep taking it out on my bed. I barely had the energy to get back up and retrieve my phone, dropping back onto my mattress with a weary huff of air. The case had done its job, but it wouldn’t be doing it again. Sacrificed in the line of duty, I peeled the remains of the plastic off and tossed them aside, along with any delusions my week would improve.

As I sank into my pillow, I was gripped by a sudden realization and fought down a pained sob as I covered my face.

I was alone now. And the worst part? The blame was on me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Authors are all monsters.


	6. Sandstorm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ewan makes friends and then some very poor decisions.

“The hell are you doing here?”

I looked up blearily from my lackluster lunch of a wilted taco salad to meet the eyes of whoever was growling at me. Turns out it was Gavin, arms crossed and scowling. I had no idea why he’d decided to bother me now, he usually left me alone at lunch. Heck, everyone left me alone at lunch, that’s why it was my favorite part of the school day. Even if the food left more than a little to be desired.

It had been just about a week since the fight with Nadya, and I hadn’t heard from her since. Of course, I wasn’t going to text her first, not until she apologized. She’d started the fight, and until she expressed the tiniest regret, I wouldn’t be the first to break.

No matter how much it hurt to be this alone.

I tried talking to Cinder, but she refused to give me more than one-word answers, excepting the one very long text explaining that she wouldn’t talk to either of us until we made up. I felt this was incredibly unfair for me, but I didn’t bother telling her. I was at least partially to blame.

Things stayed the same as they had been the week before. You know, horribly. People still treated me like the social outcast I was, though I was getting better at dealing with it. Or maybe I was just growing numb to it. I wondered if there was even a real difference at this point.

The only thing that seemed to get better was my relationship, if you could call it that, with Lance. Even though I rarely saw him at home, he was at least silently greeting me on the rare occasion we ran into each other. A small comfort all things considered, but I’d take whatever I could get. Pariahs can’t be choosers after all.

At least today was only a half-day.

“I asked you a question faggot.”

Ugh. I hated how proud he looked when he said that, like it was the world’s most perfect insult, hand crafted by a skilled artisan as he huddled away within his workshop, building it in secret before revealing it to the world. You know, the opposite of the utterly thoughtless, lazy slur it really was.

“I’m eating.” I replied, taking a bite of my barely touched food for emphasis. It tasted like it only had a passing relationship with the concept of beef, but it was still food. Technically.

“But…” I continued around the technically food. “If you mean in general, it’s because I’m legally required to be here. You know, the right to education and all that good stuff.” I took another bite. “And because this was the only empty table.”

He blinked in surprise and stared for a moment. I don’t think he’d actually expected me to respond, at least not so casually.

“You’re retarded.” There are no words.

“Astute observation.” I replied. “Are you done now? We’re all very busy here.” I gestured to the empty seats around me.

“There’s nobody here. You’re all alone.”

I got the feeling he wasn’t used to being talked back to. The poor baby, I must be so hard on him.

“Again, very astute. You should get a cookie, you clever boy.”

He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward; hands placed on the table around my tray.

“Nobody wants you here, pixie brit.” He growled, so close to me the brim of his hat almost pressed against my forehead. “So why are you still here?”

He smelled like a locker room and body spray and the need to lean back was hard to ignore.

The need to piss him off was harder still. I leaned forward, forcing him to back up if he didn’t want to contact contract “The Gay.”

“Because I don’t care what you lot want.” I said quietly. “And you really don’t scare me, hick boy.”

“You-”

“And you know something else?” I snarled. “There’s never been anything wrong with being gay, but there’s definitely always been something wrong with the kind of asshole you are!”

His eyes wide, I could almost hear the hamster struggling to spin that wheel in his brain, laboring to process two thoughts at once. Finally though, he narrowed them again in a sneering glare.

“You fucking gay little-”

“Either get a room or break it up you two. Some of us are trying to eat.”

Surprised, I turned toward the new arrival. I don’t know how I neither of us noticed, but Olivia had dropped into a seat at the table and was gazing at us disinterestedly, fork pointed at us as if to prove her point.

“Oh, hello.” I said, giving her a slight wave.

Gavin just growled. “You think I want to kiss this fag?” He asked, not yet pulling back. It seemed liked he didn’t want to back down just yet, and I certainly wouldn’t be the first.

Olivia popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and pulled out her phone, scrolling through nonchalantly and pointing it at us before she answered.

“I think your girlfriend would be jealous of how close you are to his face. Smile.” Her phone made a shutter sound, and she turned it to show us the picture. And then swiped to show us an image from farther away, angled just so to make us look even closer. “Documents of your first gay kiss. You’ll be popular on the forums.”

Gavin recoiled in horror, nearly throwing himself off the table. “Delete that!” He snarled, reaching out to snatch the phone from her.

I sat back and watched, perplexed. This was the most I’d heard Olivia talk since… well, ever. And not only that, she seemed to land squarely on my side, at least for the time being. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, so I kept quiet, opting to observe where this was going. Her attitude implied he wouldn’t hurt her, but I wanted to be ready, just in case.

“You don’t delete blackmail, Gavin.” She replied, sounding as if she was explaining the toilet to a toddler. She pointed behind him. “And you don’t get this close to another girl when your girlfriend is coming this way.”

“What are you-”

“Baaaaaabe!” Wailed a familiar voice. “Babe you won’t believe what happened!”

I squeezed my eyes shut and took a deep breath. Maybe I mistook the voice. _Please, let me be wrong._

I was not. Stacia rushed up to the table, grabbing Gavin in a desperate hug from behind. “Babe it’s terrible!” She cried. “I can’t believe it happened again!”

Of course these two were dating. Why was I even surprised?

“Ah! What, what is it?” He struggled for a moment, apparently debating between comforting her and trying to take the phone again. I’ll give him credit, he did the smart thing and chose her. Not that it would be easy, he’d first have to find a way to scrape her off, and most girls don’t appreciate that. He hugged her to his chest and settled for glaring over her head.

“It horrible!” She sobbed. “Someone hacked my accounts again! Now everyone thinks I ate all those burgers last night! They all think I’m a fat slob!”

“Baby that’s… really bad!” Smooth, dude. Points for the accurate pet name though. “Who would do something like that?”

“I don’t know!” She sobbed wetly. At least I think that’s what she said, it was muffled by how hard she had pressed her face into his chest.

“Nobody thinks that, we all know you barely eat.” Olivia stated, pushing her salad around the tray.

Stacia pulled back from Gavin and wiped away her tears. “Oh, Liv! I didn’t see you there.” She sniffled. “Sweet of you to say.”

Olivia’s eye twitched.

And then Stacia saw me.

“Oh.” Venom dripped from the word. “It’s you.”

“It’s me.” I agreed cheerfully. “What’s new Stacy?”

“Don’t call me that!” She snapped. “And what are you doing here anyway? I thought you knew nobody wanted you here.”

“I have been informed.” I replied, taking a bite of taco and continuing to speak around it. “And I was trying to eat my lunch.”

Stacia wrinkled her nose at my plate. “I thought you gay people were supposed to be tasteful, not eat garbage like that. It’s like, the one good thing about you people.”

“Another thing you got wrong then.” I shrugged. “Now could you possibly whine elsewhere? This is salty enough without you crying all over it.”

Stacia gasped incredulously, stepping behind Gavin. “You can’t talk to me like that! Babe! Don’t let him talk to me like that!”

“What’s he going to do?” Olivia asked, phone still out. “Drool on him?

Gavin snarled and stepped closer again. It seemed like his thing. “Now listen here you fucking bea-”

“Hey ‘Livia!” Sorry I’m late, the line was waaaay too long.”

Yet another person decided to drop in, and into the seat right between Olivia and myself. I recognized his scent before I recognized his face. Weed boy was in an especially good mood today, and his tray was laden with multiple tacos, two cartons of milk, and even a fruit cup. Dude had to have a cast-iron stomach to even smell that much cafeteria food.

“Jake.” Olivia said with a nod.

“I love taco day! They always let me take as much as I want! Can you believe people barely took any?” He paused, apparently just noticing me. Then he broke out into a huge grin that could have blinded a lesser man. “Oh hey dude! Nice to see you around! Evan, right?”

“Ewan actually.” I smiled back. “Nice to see you too.”

“Hey Stacia, sup Gavin? You guys eating lunch with us too?” I couldn’t tell if he was messing with them or if he genuinely thought we were on such good terms. His smile seemed sincere, at the very least.

The two of them didn’t seem to know either, their rhythm completely shattered by the sunny arrival of my now favorite pothead. Seemingly uninterested in continuing the fight with Jake there, excuses were made and the duo left, deflating more with every step away.

“Was it something I said?” Jake asked innocently, picking up his first disastrous approximations of a taco.

“I- I don’t know.” I replied. And then I turned to look at my new allies. Supposed allies. They were both looking back at me expectantly. Well, Jake was. Olivia seemed as disinterested now as she was when she was being threatened. “Why… are you two sitting here?”

“We thought you needed a friend!” Jake replied cheerfully, slapping my shoulder, nearly sending me to the floor. Sophia took another picture.

“Really? You decided that now.” I probably could have sounded less accusatory, but the last week hadn’t exactly pushed me toward being friendly. I wanted to be sure.

Jake nodded. “Yeah! Via said you were cool, and I didn’t really believe those rumors anyway!”

“Uh… who?”

“Me.” Olivia replied. “It’s what the people I can stand call me. It’s what I like to be called.” Her eye twitched again. “Do not. Call me ‘Liv.’ It’s just one of the many reasons Stacy gets hacked so often.”

“I don’t think she likes being called that.” Jake said around his second taco.

“I know.”

“Uh… uh huh.” I said. “And so you guys decided now was the best time to be friends? Not to sound ungrateful, but why now?”

“Via was finally ready.” Jake replied. “And I got out of sitting with anybody else today.”

“…What?”

“I had to decide if you were worth it.” Olivia clarified. “The number of people who annoy me so

little as to be tolerable for long periods of time is small. And few are worth the effort.”

“Uhm…” Was all I said.

“She’s not great with making friends.” Jake translated. “And I didn’t want to rush her. Sorry!”

“That’s… okay?” I said. “I think? I’m still not sure what made today special.”

“Gavin’s an ass.” She deadpanned. “And you don’t deserve his abuse.”

“Oh.” My face felt hot. These two actually seemed… nice? Yeah, nice was the word. I don’t know how I’d grown so unused to it in so short a time, but it’d been too long since I’d been able to say that about anyone at school. Or anybody in general, really. “Thank you. Really.”

“It’s no problem!” Jake replied happily. “You gonna finish that?” He gestured to my barely touched taco. I shook my head and passed him the tray. I had no idea how he could want any more of the slop the school passed off as edible, but he seemed more than happy to shovel it down.

“You are impressively disgusting.” Olivia said, staring at her friend in subtle disdain.

“It’s just a taco, I’ll work it off at practice! It’s not like you haven’t seen me eat worse!”

“Disgusting.” She reiterated. “And so is you playing with Gavin.”

“Practice?” I asked, watching in enrapt horror as Jake basically swallowed the “food” whole. “Gavin?”

He licked his fingers. “Oh sure, I play center on the basketball team, and he plays point guard. He’s pretty good! He’s why we won last year.”

“Oh, is he?” Ironically, I truly did not care about his ball-handling skills.

“No, Jake is being nice. He’s center for a reason.” Olivia picked away at the rest of her salad. “And he’s attached.”

“Hey, teamwork makes the dream work!” Jake protested. “And he’s not that bad, you’ve just gotta know him. And look past his… uh… issues.”

“Issues, huh?” I hoped I looked cynical and not just mean.

Jake looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, issues. They can be worked out, you know?” He looked down. “They can be worked out, right?”

This seemed like a sensitive subject, and I really didn’t want to upset my new… friend?... any more than I already had, so I gave a comforting smile and nodded.

“Yeah, probably. People can always change.” They just need to want to.

Jake smiled back. Olivia did not.

“Probably not,” she said with brutal honesty. “He was the same with Reyson. Same tactics, worse results.”

Jake winced and I couldn’t help but ask “Who’s Reyson?”

“He was another gay student. He’s gone now.”

“Uh… gone?”

“Gone.” She repeated. “Gavin bullied him and nobody helped. Now he’s gone.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. I was keenly aware of just how bad bullying could be, even if the victims weren’t like me. It was hard sometimes, being this way.

“I liked Reyson.” Jake said quietly. “He seemed nice.”

“So I’m in trouble then?” I wasn’t really asking.

“No, You’re doing better.”

“What?” I was really getting lost. Her lack of inflection didn’t help. “How do you mean?”

“You stood up to him. Nobody does that. You’ll be fine.”

“Hey, nice!” Jake added, cheerful once again. “What did you say? I bet it was epic!”

“Uh. I just told him I wasn’t scared and that he was an asshole. Nothing too out there.”

“Dude, that’s awesome! Bet he was super shocked and everything!”

I smiled. Jake’s confidence in me was surprisingly uplifting. I’d missed that feeling.

“For a second.” I affirmed. “Then Li- Olivia helped.” I turned to her and smiled. “Thank you, by the way. I appreciate the support.”

She waved me off. “You know why I did it.”

“Still,” I said. “I want to thank you. I think most people would have been scared.”

“Fear is just an emotion. I have no time for those.”

“I… see.”

“Well it was pretty brave of you to stand up for yourself too!” Jake interjected. “Gavin’s a big dude and he really doesn’t like you.”

I’d noticed. He wasn’t just tall, but fairly muscled too. My best guess was he worked out alongside playing basketball. Seemed in character.

“He just hates me for being gay. It’s literally the only string to his bow.” I took a quick swig of my chocolate milk and pulled a face. It was getting a little lukewarm. “Besides,” I continued. “Someone far more important than him once told me I had nothing to be ashamed of, so I think I’ll listen to her instead.”

“That’s… a really good way of looking at it.”

“Thanks. Besides, being gay is far less of a problem in the long run than-”

_“Attention students.”_ The announcement system crackled to life, the voice of the secretary barely recognizable behind the staticky reverb of the old speakers that were probably overdue for an upgrade that there was no budget for. The din of the surrounding students lessened just a tad.

_“Attention students.”_ It repeated. _“We regret to inform you an emergency warning has been issued for an oncoming haboob. Please take your belongings and board your bus, as we will be ending earlier than scheduled today. Please exit in a calm and orderly fashion, thank you.”_

The system’s feedback faded and everyone immediately started moving. Trays were left, friends said goodbye and the entire lunchroom began moving to the locker area faster than when the day normally ended. This included Olivia and Jake.

“Welp, see you later.” Jake said. Olivia just did a little finger wave and vanished into the crowd.

“Wait!” I grabbed Jake’s arm. “What’s a haboob? What’s going on?”

“Big dust storm with really heavy winds! Really dangerous! We can’t stay and talk, we gotta go! See you tomorrow!”

He pulled away and left me to process that information, which I did. For just long enough to realize I didn’t have time to actually think about it, I just had to get moving.

Usually I’d walk home. Today it would be a full sprint, starting right now.

Life in Arizona was just wonderful, wasn’t it? And only getting better as I stepped outside after swimming through the crowded hallways to find the wind was already picking up, whipping hair and papers alike in a frenzied, chaotic gale. It would have been incredibly entertaining to watch if there wasn’t the threat of death by heavy dusting. I squeezed my way through the crowded entrance area and out past the lines of busses to the parking lot. And who should I find waiting for me but Lance, standing next to an old black motorcycle, helmet in hand and hair flapping in the wind.

He saw me too. And, reasons I could not fathom, tucked the helmet under his arm and began walking towards me. And I could not be less prepared for it.

Is it sad to say I briefly considered turning around and rejoining the crowd? Because I almost did. And then I remembered the oncoming storm. My options weren’t really the best. So instead of running, I simply walked forward to meet him.

“Hey blondie.”

“Hey cowboy.”

He snorted and pushed the helmet toward me. “Not a cowboy. Now put this on.”

I pushed it back. “And my name’s not blondie. Why?”

He pushed it forward again, pressing it against my chest. “Cause the storm’ll be here soon and I gotta take you home before dad or yer granny worry.”

“Take me… on your bike?”

“Duh, what else. Put on the helmet and let’s go.”

I stared at him for one… two… three seconds before my brain finished processing and my body reacted, walking past and away at top speed.

“Nope. Nopenopenopenopenopenope.”

“Wha- get back here! Is it about the helmet? I know it’s uncomfy, but it could save yer life!”

“Nope!” I repeated, increasing my speed as he endeavored to catch up with me. “Just not riding that. No thank you, I can make it just fine!”

“The hell you can! That sandstorm comin’ and yer not ready for it, now get on the bike!” He grabbed my arm, trying to yank me toward the machine. And that’s when the panic set in.

“NO!” I screamed. Wrenching myself from his grasp, I took off running. I sprinted past the very last car leaving the parking lot, across the street and far, far away from Lance or his hell machine. I wasn’t sure if I was even running the right way, I just knew I had to get away. And by the time I stopped to catch my breath, I was about as “away” as I could be without motorized assistance.

Doubled over and panting, I looked around, trying to regain my bearings. I wasn’t successful, there wasn’t so much as a fast food restaurant nearby. It looked like some kind of factory or warehouse area, surrounded by nondescript windowless buildings and absolutely no people. To make matters worse, the winds were increasing even further, and dust was indeed starting to blow around me, along with trash and the occasional tumbleweed. Yes, really. Arizona is fucking weird.

More importantly though, I had no idea where I was, and the storm was almost here. And without any idea of where I was, I wasn’t sure I’d find shelter in time. And the most annoying thing? This was probably entirely my fault.

Probably.

Knowing full well I couldn’t just stand around, I rushed to try the nearest door. No luck, the knob was either too rusted or too stubborn to turn more than a half-inch. I ran to the next, and then the next, finding nothing but locked or immovable doors in every frame. It was hopeless.

Unsure exactly how much time I had left, I ran through an opening in the buildings, hoping to find a familiar street, a building I could hide in, I’d settle for a garden shed at this point. The dust and sand were starting to hurt, wearing down any exposed skin with a thousand tiny blades.

Sadly, despite finding a normal street, there were still no real buildings in sight. Sight growing more and more limited as the storm worsened. In desperation, I threw myself at the nearest door, wrenching at it with all my strength. My heart soared as the knob turned all the way… and then crashed into the pit of my stomach as the door refused to give way, merely shaking in its frame.

“No!” I screamed, throwing my shoulder at the door. “No, no, no! Fuck me, why now?” It didn’t move. I was going to die, buried in sand in a strange part of town in a state I’d never wanted to move to in the first place.

Funny, I’d always assumed it would be a car that got me, not a cascade of bad luck resulting from my own stupid decision. Life is funny like that. Ha ha ha, oh it kills me.

Then, against all odds, the world decided to cut me the smallest of breaks. The roar of an engine, barely audible over the sound of the wind, echoed through the buildings around me, growing louder and louder as the beam of headlights broke through the sand streaming around me. Headlight, actually. Singular.

Lance screeched to a halt, almost throwing his bike aside as he leapt off and ran over.

“Move!” He hollered, slightly muffled by the bandana wrapped around his face, and he lashed out in a stomping kick right under the doorknob, sending it flying open with a loud crash.

Grasping my shoulders, he shoved me through the doorway and, after a brief moment of fighting the winds, slammed the door behind us, leaving the world pitch black.

And leaving us alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise context is coming for Ewan's actions.


	7. Waiting Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trapped together during the sandstorm, tempers flair and the boys learn more about each other than they expected.

It was good to finally be out of the storm, but the building presented its own problems, the most prominent of which was the darkness. There was a lot. That’s all there really was, from what I could see. It seemed weird that there wasn’t at least a skylight, but what did I know about architecture? Luckily, being the technology wizard that I was, I could rectify this with a simple sprinkling of genius.

So I pulled out my phone and turned on the flashlight function. Genius comes in many forms.

The building was big, big and empty, with little more than a few cobweb-ridden boxes, machines, and old, old vehicles. So the good news was we probably didn’t trip any alarms with our enthusiastic entry, and the bad news was that intact lighting was a dubious prospect at best.

I covered my face as another light blossomed in the darkness. Lance had gotten a similar idea, but he seemed a little more intent on seeing me than the rest of the building.

It probaby had something to do with his look of absolute fury, currently aimed at me. Probably.

He pulled his bandana down and snarled “The hell do ya think yer doin blondie?! We almost died out there!”

I had to fight the urge to step back, the events of the alleyway still fresh in my mind. Was that look of rage the last thing that poor man had seen before the beatings had begun? It was almost hard to believe someone so perpetually cool could look so terrifying. The lighting was probably at least partially to blame but knowing that didn’t make him any less scary.

The problem was that I couldn’t be sure. And that uncertainty was the scariest part.

“I’m- I’m sorry, Lance.” More scared than sorry really, but I did genuinely feel bad for putting him in danger. “I shouldn’t have- I just couldn’t…” The words refused to come, and I could only hang my head, clenching my fists in shame and frustration.

“I’m sorry.” I repeated.

“Couldn’t make it easy, could ya? We coulda been home safe already, but you had to fuckin’ _sprint_ into the storm.” He turned and punched the door, the hollow thud echoing through the empty building. He turned back and threw his arm behind him, pointing outside. “I almost didn’t find ya! It was fuckin lucky that I did, or I woulda had to explain to yer gram why you were dead on my watch!”

“I said I’m sorry! You scared me, okay? I told you I didn’t want to ride your stupid bike, but you just HAD to grab me again! I thought ‘no’ was a pretty clear answer!”

“My bike’s not stupid!” He hollered. “And why couldn’t ya just get on! I wasn’t gonna hurt ya or anything!”

I screamed in frustration. “I have Amaxophobia you violent asshole! I’m fucking TERRIFIED of riding in vehicles! And how the fuck was I supposed to know you wouldn’t hurt me? The last time you said any more than two words to me was in the fucking alley!”

“Oh.” He looked to the side. “Oh.”

I made a “duh” gesture. “Yeah, ‘oh.’” I sighed and slumped against the wall, sliding to the floor. “It’s a problem.”

Lance didn’t reply, he just followed my example and sat down against the door. We sat in silence, the winds outside screaming to be let in. I was, at the very least, glad that he was pressed against the door. It probably wouldn’t blow open, but any added security was nice.

I wasn’t sure how much time passed after that, but eventually I began to feel awkward. I was stuck in here with Lance, and I hadn’t exactly done much to give it a pleasant start. Neither had he, but I still felt kind of bad about snapping at him like that. He couldn’t have known my issues, so it probably wasn’t fair to lash out at him like he’d deliberately tried to trigger them.

“-yer light.”

I blinked in confusion. “Come again?”

“Turn off yer light. We should take turns to save battery power.”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely confused. I wanted to be able to see, even if he was the only thing to look at. Not a terrible sight either, if you ignored all the guilt.

“We might be in here a while.”

“‘A while?’” I repeated. “How long do these stupid things last?

“Usually an hour. But this one’s big, so maybe three?” He sounded so nonchalant.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t follow his laid-back approach. In fact, I couldn’t handle a lot right now. I wasn’t sure why this was the last straw, but something inside me snapped.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I screamed, slamming my fist into the wall behind me. It hurt. “I HATE THIS FUCKING PLACE!”

“Whoa.” Lance put his hands up in a placating gesture. It did not work. “It’s dark, but this old place ain’t that bad.”

“It’s not the fucking warehouse!” I growled, jumping to my feet to begin pacing in anger. “It’s this whole fucking state! I hate Arizona! Why did I have to move to this sandy hellhole in the middle of FUCKING NOWHERE?! Everything’s been horrible from the fucking start!”

I think Lance started to say something, but I didn’t hear. I was busy with my little explosion.

“It’s too fucking hot to run, there are fucking MONSOONS which nobody felt the need to warn me about, and the fucking sun is a death ray!” I was pacing back and forth faster and faster, frantically waving my arms as I spat out every word. “My friends blame me for the fucking move, no idea where THAT line of thinking came from, and they won’t talk to me because of a fucking STUPID argument that Nadya started for no CUNTING REASON! And to top it all off, everybody at school is a homophobic ASSBUTT and nobody gives a shit!”

I paused to breathe, body shuddering with the effort. I glared at Lance, who seemed to be at a loss for words, eyes wide.

“I never fucking DID anything!” My throat hurt from all the yelling, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything right now, I just needed to scream, to let out all the sadness turned rage that had been accumulating for weeks and weeks.

As terrible as it sounds, I needed to lash out, if not at someone then everything I could think of.

“I just wanted to get through this stupid year and go home without a fucking catastrophe every goddamn week, but APPARENTLY that just wasn’t in the cards! And now I’m stuck here in the devil’s sandy ass crack with no friends and no safe way to fucking exercise because I might run into my fucking GANGSTER of a house mate and end up beaten to death in a dark alleyway, and now there’s fucking THREE HOUR SANDSTORMS!” I kicked the wall, slamming the bottom of my foot into it as hard as I could. “WHY IS EVERTHING SO SHIT?!”

Empty now of all that anger, all that vile, pent up hate, I could only stand there panting, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. With all that out, I felt empty, weak. My throat felt torn, my hand hurt, and I was pretty sure I’d hurt my ankle with that kick. I felt fucking awful.

And Lance looked fucking livid. He rose up from the door, walked over to me, and then grabbed my face with his hand, forcing me to look him in the eye.

“It’s not a fucking gang.” He snarled in a low voice. “Ya don’t know me, and ya don’t know them.”

Manic, nervous laughter bubbled up from inside and I slapped his hand away.

“Really?” I challenged. “Is that why you kicked the shit outta that guy in the alley? Is that why you had to fucking LIE to them?” I laughed again, angrier this time. “You barely show your face around the house and avoid me like the plague and you just want me to take your word that it’s not EXACTLY what it looks like?” I tapped the side of my head. “How stupid do you think I am?”

“Dumb enough to run into a fucking sandstorm!” He growled, stepping closer. “And what the fuck do you even know? Been here what, three weeks? What makes you the expert?”

“Well I know I see your dad more than you do!” I spat back. “I have to help Gramma take care of him and BOY does he like to talk about you!” I honestly loved Mr. Asher, he was one of my favorite adults ever. But he talked a lot about Lance, and a version of Lance I’d never seen, at that.

“He’s the proudest fucking dad I’ve ever met.” I said. “Does he even know about this?”

“I’ll kill ya.” Lance snarled. “NEVER tell him.”

I laughed. “I’m surprised you care what he thinks! You’re around so little, it almost seems like you hate seeing him!”

That was one too far. Lance grabbed me by the shoulders and shoved me against the wall. I barely managed to avoid cracking my head on the stone.

“He’s all I have!” He screamed, drawing back his fist. “Ya can’t understand how I feel, yer not adopted!”

I was absolutely terrified. Lance was so much bigger, I had no doubt he could smear me across the walls. But even though every part of me screamed to placate him, to keep him from hitting me, I still couldn’t stop the words from falling out of my mouth.

“Wrong again asshole! My parents died when I was five! Looks like we have something in common!”

We both froze, staring at each other for an eternity. That… hadn’t been something I’d intended to say. Certainly not as a way to one-up him, and it definitely wasn’t something Lance had expected to hear from me. He started, seemingly just becoming aware of the lingering threat of his upraised arm. He backed up, lowering it in shame.

“I’m sorry.” Why the hell was I apologizing when he’d threatened me?

“I’m sorry.” I said again. Didn’t I deserve it though, for talking to him like that?

“‘S okay.” He mumbled, walking back to the door and sinking down to the floor. “‘M sorry too.”

I hesitated for a moment, then walked over to sit next to him. We sat quietly for a few minutes, the muted howling of the wind the only sound in the dark warehouse. I quickly checked my phone. I still had plenty battery, but there was no reception. Whether it was from the storm or the roof, I couldn’t tell.

“So,” I finally said, breaking the stifling silence. “When did it happen to you?”

“Dad found me when I was eight.” He didn’t look at me, he just stared off into the distant darkness. “I had a few before, but it never worked out. They wanted a different kid, not me.” His expression hardened briefly, as if the memory was still fresh.

It probably was. Some things don’t leave you. Not all wounds fade with time.

“They didn’t want an angry little troublemaker, they wanted some cute, behavin’ little baby.”

“A pet.” I said. I’d never gone through what Lance did, but I’d read about it. Some people thought adoption was like getting a pet and were somehow shocked when the kid wasn’t exactly how they’d imagined. Some people were stupid.

He snorted. “Yeah, tha’s right. A puppy or some shit. They didn’t want me, all angry from bein’ in the system. A feral pup, more like.”

I scratched at the floor. I felt for him, but I couldn’t pretend to know exactly how things had been. I’d been lucky enough to have Gramma there for me, to have Cinder too. I’d had family there.

“So you…?”

Lance scratched his head, messing his hair even further. “Nah, I never knew my ‘real’ folks. They didn’t wanted me, I don’t want them. Never have.” He didn’t sound as unaffected as he said, but it wasn’t my place to say.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

He chuckled darkly. “How could ya? Doesn’t matter, I got Dad now.” Everything about him relaxed when he said that, shoulders untensing, expression relaxed.

He really loved his dad, didn’t he?

“Dad was the only one who really gave me a chance, y’know? He picked me out from all those kids, he put up with me. First guy to ever treat me like a human.”

I smiled. “Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?”

Lance laughed, really laughed this time, and gave me a light push. “Ya don’t know the half of it, Blondie! He brought me on tours, he let me help him write those books! Heck, he gave me my bike, taught me how to fix it! Course, he had to teach himself first!”

I had to laugh at the picture that put in my head. All I could imagine was Mr. Asher sneaking out to the garage to practice working on an old bike, frantically looking to an oil stained manual and a copy of “Mechanics for Dummies.”

“Hey now, don’t laugh! He got it by the time I was sixteen!” Lance lightly shoulder checked me, pushing me onto my side. I didn’t fight it, I just kept laughing on the ground.

“You should be proud!” I snickered, trying in vain to get back up as lance started holding me down with one hand. “It takes a lot of effort to raise a parent!”

“Shut up! S’not like ya would know, what with yer gram and all.”

I finally managed to push his hand away, (more like he finally let me) and sat back up, grinning. “I don’t think Gramma was raised by anyone. I think she was built in a lab to be the perfect nanny.”

Lance chuckled. “Heh, yer probably right. If she can handle Dad, she can handle anyone.”

“Well, she’s had practice.”

“Yeah.” Lance was quiet for a moment, his face slowly sobering. “So, uh… what happened to yers?”

“Mine?” Oh right. My parents.

It was strange, I’d never really felt comfortable with the subject. I could always acknowledge they were dead, but the details were just not a thing I talked about. Still, I felt like I owed it to Lance to explain my situation. And oddly, I kind of wanted to. It felt right.

“Yeah. If yer good to tell me.” He sounded hesitant.

I smiled at him. “No, I’m good. It’s just… it’s hard.” I took a deep breath, wondering where to start. The answer seemed obvious, but I’d never really had to explain it, so I wasn’t exactly sure. The basic facts seemed as good as any other.

“There was a car accident. Another driver hit us, and I was the only one who survived.” I paused for a moment, trying to think. Trying to remember. “I… I don’t know if the other guy was drunk or just not paying attention, but he didn’t survive either. I’m not really sure about everything, it was all just sort of a blur.” I frowned searching for anything else I could give him. “I think we were going somewhere special, but I’m not sure. I just remember a scream and a crash. And then I woke up in the hospital.”

It wasn’t easy to dredge up these old memories. They didn’t really hurt per say, but they felt rough when they went through my mind, scratching at my emotions as they passed by.

“Oh. I’m really sorry Ewan.” I blinked in surprise, looking back at lance.

He looked… sad. Concerned, touched maybe? Strange, this was the first time he’d used my name. It sounded good paired with his accent. Or maybe it was just because it was him saying it.

I tried for another smile. “It’s okay, it’s been a long time, you know? I can barely it, mostly just the aftermath.” I told him how I’d barely been hurt, how I spent the next few days with Cinder and her family, how Gramma showed up, and how, when she hugged me so close it hurt, she was crying. How, to this day, I’d never seen her cry again.

And everything else was history. The rest was just my life, and everything that came with it.

Lance listened to the entire thing, all my stories, all my explanations. And finally, he had just one question.

“Do ya miss em?”

And it gave me pause. Because I’d never thought about it before.

“I’m… not sure. I was only five, so I can’t really remember much about them.” I frowned again, deep in thought. “I don’t know if I can.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Well I mean… hang on.” I had to consider it myself. “I don- I can’t remember them. Not really. I can’t remember what they looked like, how they treated me, even what they did with me. But…”

“But?” He gently prompted. He sounded so invested.

“But there are these…” I drummed my fingers on the side of my head, searching for the right words. “Feelings? Or memories of feelings? I get these little flashes of something like that. Of feeling safe, wrapped up in a warm embrace. Or of an old lullaby in the dark. Just… warmth. I guess I felt loved?”

I closed my eyes and tried to sort through my own thoughts, at the small, barely recognizable feeling silently trickling through the bottom of my memory, like the remnants of a once great river, shrunken to a mere whisper of its former self at the bottom of a canyon it once had the power to carve out.

“Uh… ya okay?”

I didn’t answer, silently searching for an answer in the recesses of my psyche. And after an eternity, I looked back to him again.

“Can you miss someone you can’t remember? I feel like I do, like I’m missing something important. Something I just can’t reach.” Wetness spattered on the floor. I hadn’t realized I’d been crying. I hadn’t realized this could still make me.

“How can I miss them now, when I can’t even remember their names? When I have to look at old pictures to even know what they looked like?” I didn’t expect him to have the answer, I just needed the words to come out. “How can I miss a love I’ve never even known? I don’t even know who they were.”

Lance of course, couldn’t give me the answer I needed. I wasn’t sure anybody could. I wasn’t even sure there was an answer. I’m still not.

What I did know, however, was that Lance was a good, kind person. He didn’t speak, he didn’t even make a sound. All he did was scoot over to me and pull me against his side. And he let me stay there as I cried in silence, mourning the loss of what I could never really know.

“Can I ask you a question?” Time had passed and I’d finally stopped crying. I’d stopped leaning on Lance too, but that had taken longer. Eventually the reluctance to move was overwhelmed by the pain in my ass. A stone floor really wasn’t very comfortable, even taking the thoughtfully supplied headrest into account. “A personal one I mean. Not like your favorite color or anything.” There really wasn’t much more to the building than was initially apparent, aside from an astounding number of dusty cobwebs. I guess even the spiders got tired of this place.

“Go fer it.” Lance called back. He was stretching too, just over in the same spot. Two hours in here had really done a number on our butts. “And it’s crimson. I liked crimson the most.”

“Good to know.” I walked back over and leaned against the wall. I’d had enough of the floor for quite some time. “So if it’s not a gang or anything, what’s your whole deal with the alley beatdown?”

Lance grimaced as I shined my light down on him. “‘S a long story.”

“We probably have time.” I noted. “But if you’re not up to telling me I understand.” I smiled reassuringly.

He sighed. “Nah it’s fine. It’s just… complicated. But I s’pose I kinda owe ya an explanation.”

“Maybe a little.” I agreed. “But you can always save it for another time. Today’s been… trying. I don’t need to know right now if it’s hard.”

“Mm. Well, all ya need to know is they’re like family. Old friends. Only ones I’ve had for a while. Honestly, I’d like to save it for another time.”

I nodded. “That’s fair. Can I ask you a different one then?”

“Shoot, go for it. Waddya wanna know?”

I probably could have considered the question a little more carefully, but I was tired. Plus, I’d been curious about it for a while now. It seemed like the perfect time to ask.

“Why do people seem scared of you? I was warned you were dangerous my first day, but I’ve never really seen it.” Aside from that one night, but I didn’t want to keep bringing that up. At least not today.

Lance shot me a wolfish grin. “What, think I can’t be dangerous? Grew on ya that much?”

I snorted and flipped him off. “You’re an ass, but I don’t mind you too much.” _Anymore._

He chuckled and rose up. “Long story short, I broke a kid’s arm in junior high. And then a few noses after that. Anybody who deserved it.”

“Shitbiscuits.” I said, eyes wide. “What did they do?”

“They made fun of my dad.” Lance didn’t look at me, but I knew he was glaring. “Laughed and said I’d be an orphan again when he died.”

“Oh.” Eloquent I know, but it was all I could think to say.

He nodded. “Yeah, kid earned it. He never said it again, and neither did anyone else. Not after the fourth I one sent to the hospital.”

When I didn’t respond, he finally turned to look at me. He almost looked cautious. He still smirked confidently, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“S’wrong? Yer not scared of me again, are ya?”

I cocked my head and thought about it for a while. It wasn’t a great thing he did, but it was an understandable reaction, given the circumstances. Extreme yes, but not without reason. Plus…

“I kind of expected worse.” I finally said with a shrug. “Like setting fires or grand theft auto or something. I can’t really blame you; I’ve been wanting to break a certain someone’s nose for the past two weeks.” Two someones actually, but who’s counting? I grinned. “I’m just glad you could tell me. I’ve been wondering for a while.”

Lance looked pleasantly surprised at my response. I guess he’d grown used to being feared. And he’d definitely given me a few reasons to fear him, though I couldn’t really bring myself to dislike him. At his core, he seemed just as lonely as I was.

“Huh. That-”

“Hang on.” I put my finger to my lips. “Listen. Do you hear that?”

Lance held still, listening intently. “Not a thing. What do ya hear, blondie?”

“That’s just it. I can’t hear anything.” I pointed to the door. “There’s nothing out there.”

Understanding shone on his face. It might have also been the phone light. “The storm.” He wrenched the door open and I had to shield my eyes as light suddenly flared back into the world.

I followed him out and emerged squinting into the world outside. Everything looked… exactly the same. Just with a layer of dust and sand covering every conceivable surface. If I hadn’t seen the storm myself, I’d almost assume it had been merely windy. Incredibly windy actually, since Lance’s bike was laying on its side, scratched and slightly worn from the hours it spent weathering the storm. I could hear traffic in the distance.

“Wow, it’s so peaceful.”

“Life goes on.” Lance agreed, standing his bike back up and inspecting every conceivable nook and cranny and dusting off every surface. “Ya get used to it after a while.”

“Hope so.” I replied, kicking at a small pile of sand. “Though I’d rather just avoid the next one, if it’s all the same to you. Not that this wasn’t fun.”

“Sure.” Lance chuckled, seemingly satisfied with his inspection. “Loads. We should get home, yer gran is probly worried sick.”

I checked my phone. With access to reception, I found a dozen texts threateningly waiting in my inbox. I was surprised it was that many actually, she usually trusted me to be safe. You know, like an idiot would.

“She’s going to kill me.” I said, tapping at and then pocketing my phone. I was in for a lot when I got home, but that would be then. For the time being, the “I’m still alive” text I sent would have to suffice. I really didn’t want to explain everything over the phone.

“Prob’ly.” He agreed, kicking up his stand. “I’d offer you a ride, but I don’t think you’d want it.”

A sincere “Sorry” was all I could manage.

He grinned. “S’cool. Prob’ly won’t start right now anyway. An’ even if it could, still gotta get ya home without getting lost again.” He gave me a rather pointed look. My face felt hot.

“If it’s not too much trouble.” I replied sheepishly. “Will that be too heavy to walk all the way?”

“Nah, I work out for a good reason. An’ ya don’t walk motorcycle’s kitten, ya do this!” And he just… hopped on, straddling the seat and scooting it along with his feet. It was incredibly dignified. And once I finished not laughing at the dignity of it all, we made our way back home, talking about nothing and simply enjoying the peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't ham it up too much, but I wanted to start heading their relationship down a friendlier path. 
> 
> As always, your thoughts are welcome, I can't improve without feedback.


	8. "Clumsy"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ewan finally gets pushed too far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood and violence warning for this chapter

Gramma did indeed end up giving us a tongue lashing the moment we got home, but she calmed down when we explained we’d been trapped in a building with no reception, only reprimanding us for not calling on the way home. No punishment though, so I called it a net win.

I also omitted the part about me running off into the storm. I already knew how stupid I was, I really didn’t need to hear about it again. Lance was good about not ratting me out, though it could have been to avoid getting chewed out for not stopping me. Either way, it was appreciated.

In all honesty, this was where things began looking brighter for me as my days grew less terrible and more… well not exactly great but edging out to tolerable. Even at school. The improvement was especially felt at school.

To my pleasant surprise, the lunch intervention wasn’t a one-and-done deal. Jake and Olivia seemed to WANT to sit next to me, and I was more than happy to have the company. Having them around, even if it was just for short periods of time, really began to drive away the shadows that had crept into my mind. For the first time in a while, I wasn’t alone.

We also began talking more in our mutual classes, surprising more than a couple people in science when Olivia willingly said more than two or three words at a time. And Jake was simply a ray of sunshine, chatting with me before and after history, to the bemused reactions of a few around us. It really was a welcome change.

The weeks passed and October replaced September, bringing with it a much-needed drop in the average daily temperature. I mean, it was still hanging around the high eighties, but it was no longer melt-your-face hot and, more importantly, I could start running again. Every day, before starting my homework or anything else similarly boring, I would go for the longest run I could manage, sometimes staying out for over an hour.

I decided to use this time to explore more of the area, determined not to lose myself in the backstreets again, and not to run to the middle of nowhere if another haboob happened to catch me off guard. The sandstorms proved little more than a nuisance after the first time, but I still wanted to be sure. Plus I found more and more parts of the city I really liked, like a small café called “Bean Me,” a quaint little park located very near an old-fashioned ice cream parlor with a swing set built high enough that even Jake was able to sit on it when we went there one weekend, and even a small game shop, packed to the brim with both old and new consoles and games. Pueblo was slowly growing on me, if only just a little.

In addition, I found myself with enough money to actually indulge in these places, following a surprise by Mr. Asher on the first day of October.

“For you.” He said, producing an envelope from out of nowhere with a tiny flourish. “I believe you’ve earned it.”

“Thank you?” I replied, nearly dropping the package once I looked inside.

There was two hundred dollars in there, all in crisp, sharp twenties. I was glad I’d caught it before it fell, I was worried it might be illegal to wrinkle them. I’d never held that much money all at once before, so I wasn’t sure on the rules.

“Uh…” I searched for the right word of thanks as I counted through the bills, hoping it wasn’t rude to purview my riches in front of him. “Are- Are you sure this is right? This feels like a bit much.”

Mr. Asher chuckled and patted my shoulder. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You’ve been helping around here too, it’s the least you should get for a month.”

I wanted to say that I hadn’t done that much, (I was only really helping Gramma a little after school and on weekends), but I also really, REALLY wanted the money. So I thanked him a few more times and made my exit, swearing to myself that the money wouldn’t change me.

Well, it wouldn’t change me too much at least, it was mostly just for grabbing snacks or a new used game. I didn’t have anything too expensive to blow it on, but a burger or ice cream every odd day wasn’t a bad use of my hardly earned income. I knew I’d probably end up blowing through it faster than intended but having money TO blow through was an experience in and of itself, so any restraint at this point was a miracle.

The biggest change of all though? Lance started joining us for dinner. It was only a few times a week, but he was still there. Turns out he was a real charmer, complimenting Gramma’s cooking, telling jokes with that had me nearly snorting an entire carrot at one point and even helping clean everything up, all with that wolfish grin on full display. Gramma absolutely loved him, and constantly tried to get him to eat more, which he accepted every time. And of course, Mr. Asher was absolutely delighted to see more of his son around. It seems he missed it more than he let on.

Of course, I remained completely unaffected by the drastic spike in charm and general time in Lance’s presence. You’d never catch me staring awkwardly when he was talking, and I’d never feel my face grow hot when he flashed that smile in my direction, no sir.

Denial is just a river in Egypt, why do you ask?

It was around the beginning of the third week in October than things started getting interesting again. Tuesday morning, I walked downstairs to find both adults sitting at the kitchen table, talking quietly over their respective mugs of steaming bean juice and hot leaf broth.

“Morning.” I greeted, snatching a banana from the counter and pulling a granola bar from the cupboard, then an apple from the fridge. I try to at start my day with healthy choices, that way I have an excuse for all the garbage I’ll consume as the day goes on. “What’s up? You seem more scheme-y than usual.”

Gramma sighed and took a bite of her toast with jam and honey, her usual “brekkie” on stressful mornings. “We don’t ‘scheme’ anything boy, we talk like normal adults.”

“I dunno,” I said around a bite of banana as I dropped into the chair across from her. “The whole ‘Santa Clause is watching you’ thing is still one of the best cons grownups have ever pulled off. I’d say normal adults scheme plenty.”

“The boy makes a fair point.” Mr. Asher said, gazing forlornly at the… I guess you’d call it “oatmeal,” but considering the sheer number of health additives thrown in there, I’m not certain it was even food anymore. He gazed down at the slurry in his bowl and sniffed sadly. “And I’d add health food to the list.” He raised an eyebrow. “You feed me this twice a week and it still doesn’t look safe for human consumption.”

She smiled wryly. “Nonsense, eat your gruel before it gets cold.”

“Yas’m Miss Warden Ma’am.”

“Hush. We’ve been talking about this weekend, Ewan. We need to leave for a few days.”

“You’re not taking me, are you?” I should have been worried about the long car ride I’d be forced to suffer through for the trip, but I couldn’t look away from the slush my grandmother was forcing Mr. Asher to eat. I knew it was healthy and I didn’t think she’d let it taste all that terrible, but at the same time it looked more like a form of torture than actual food.

_If I ever have to live like that, I hope they just shoot me and get it over with._

“Of course not, you’re old enough to handle being on your own for a few days. We’re discussing the length of the trip.”

“Oh. Oh good.” That was one less thing to worry about. I got back up to grab the peanut butter, the apple wasn’t as good as I’d hoped for on its own. “What’s it for?”

“Extensive medical treatment.” Mr. Asher pushed his bowl away. “Dr. Avens suggested I get tested alongside my radiation treatments, see if they can’t find a better solution than frying my insides.” He let out a huffing breath. “I doubt they’ll help much, but if my radiologist wants to buy a Porsche then I’m his best bet.”

Oh right, I’d briefly forgotten the whole “slowly dying of a debilitating disease” thing he had going on. It doesn’t allow for many fun ventures.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s a normal part of my life. There’s nothing to be sorry for.” I felt like he was lying, but he sounded sincere enough. “All we have to discuss is when we leave and return. Speaking of…” He looked at Gramma with a sly smile.

“No.” She didn’t look back. “We’re not staying to sightsee; we’ll need to get back in a proper hurry.”

“Opal, it’s Phoenix! You can’t expect to go there and not play the role of tourist, it’s the state capital!”

“I expect many things, such as adult behavior.” She eyed me pointedly. “That means you too. We’ll be gone all weekend and I expect this place to be as clean as I left it.”

“Mess it up before you leave, gotcha.”

“Ewan…” she warned.

“Kidding.” I assured her around my new and improved apple slice. “I’ll keep it clean, just like I did back h- back north.”

Gramma just looked at me over her teacup.

I shrugged and moved to put my dishes in the sink. “Not sure why you don’t trust me, I never destroyed anything when you were gone when Nadya and Cinder were around.”

She sighed. “I haven’t met your new friends, Ewan.” That was because I’d only just made them, and I wasn’t sure if we were close enough for me to bring them home to meet my Grandmother. “Character cannot be judged unless in person.”

“I trust his judgement.” Mr. Asher said after swigging his coffee. “I’m sure they’d return any hospitality in kind.”

Gramma sighed again. “We have a few days to plan either way, I’m sure you can plan a harmless activity or two.” She narrowed her eyes. “Nothing crazy.”

“No crazy parties.” I agreed, snatching my backpack and heading for the door. “I don’t think I even know the right kind of people for those anyway.”

“You should definitely throw a party.” Jake stuck his pencil through the knot of the short ponytail he was wearing today. It sat comfortably with the pen, the bright green highlighter, and three paperclips he’d already attached to his head.

“I feel like you don’t understand how murdered I’d be if I did that.”

“You live in a mansion, you have to do SOMETHING crazy when they’re gone!”

I leaned back and raised an eyebrow. Mr. Regent had been called to the office, so he left the class to study the chapter in the meantime. So obviously nobody was reading the book.

“Even if I knew enough people for that, I don’t want to invite a bunch of strangers into what’s not even my house. There’d be no guarantee for the safety of the décor or me, if Gramma somehow found out.”

Jake nodded thoughtfully and took a bite from one of the many, many granola bars he carried in his backpack. “That’s fair, you’ve gotta be careful. Though parties are a pretty great way to meet new people.”

I shook my head. “And a great way to forget each and every one of them. Ignoring the threat of being buried alive as punishment, I’d just be more comfortable without the huge group.” Less likely to embarrass myself too, among other things.

“I get ya. Why not just hang out with us then?”

I sat up. “You guys want to come over?”

“I know I would, you’re my friend! And Via wouldn’t say no if we asked nicely.” He winked. “Besides, you owe us a look! I wanna see how the rich and famous live!”

I liked the idea. Honestly, having friends over would be a nice change. It would be just like the good old days, minus the teeny apartment we somehow squeezed into whenever Nadya and Cinder slept over. Back when we were still around each other. And still friends.

Great, now I was sad again. The complete lack of communication wasn’t getting any easier.

I tried not to think about it come art class. Mr. Faaborg was insistent that anybody could make great art with enough practice and the willpower to see it through. He genuinely believed this, despite all evidence to the contrary. And so, as I sat there, desperately attempting grant shape to the depressed lump of clay before me, the sense of his disillusion settled over me like a weighted blanket.

“What are you working on making?” he finally asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to squint at the sad waste of clay lying tortured on the table before me.

“Well it’s a bowl now.” I wiped my hands on my smock. “It was originally going to be a vase, but I made one side too thin and it broke apart. So now I’m using the base as a bowl.” Or trying to, at least. I found the more I tried to smooth the sides the more uneven they became, meaning I had to add more clay and then try to smooth it again. Rinse and repeat.

“I see. Have you tried starting over again? Maybe taking a different approach?”

“This- this is my third try.”

“I see.” It’s hard, watching a grown man fight back tears for the sake of a kid he barely knows. He briefly tugged at the small coif in his dark brown hair. “I need to check on the other students.”

“Okay?” I said, watching him walk over to stare into the eyes of the clay mask of another student. _I think I just broke the man_. I looked down at my barely-a-bowl, which was currently folding in on itself. I had no idea it was possible for two-inch walls to wilt and implode, but I suppose school is meant for learning new things. _Maybe there’s still potential here?_ Potential that was beyond me to bring out. Sadly, I’d never see it reached.

The wet clay flew in all directions as something impacted the table in front of me. I put my hands us in defense, but it wasn’t enough to keep the mess from splattering my face and chest. I was lucky it missed my eyes.

Wiping my fragmented failure from my face I instinctively looked to Gavin’s table. Sure enough, he and some other two guys were looking my way and snickering. Gavin even mimed a basketball shot; a hook shot maybe? I wasn’t entirely familiar with the terms.

I flicked the clay from my hands. “Is he in first grade, what is this shit?” I muttered. I refused to respond. I wouldn’t sink to his level, and I certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he upset me. That’s why I hurled a small lump of my own clay back at him, smacking the center of his chest. Because I’m mature like that.

The worst part was that he’d made his own vase that looked way better than mine. It was galling to know that he wasn’t just bigger and meaner than me, he was more artistic too. Putting the sedimentary assault aside, I felt personally attacked by his vase alone.

Because I’m also petty.

Anyway, he seemed pissed. He started gathering more clay into a tight wad and I slowly put my hands on the edge of the table, ready to throw myself backwards if he decided to send more projectiles my way.

It didn’t come to that.

“Planning another sculpture, Gavin?” Mr. Faaborg asked. For such someone so polite, he could be surprisingly intimidating.

“Uuuhhhh.”

“I admire your ambition, but class is almost over. Put your vase on the cart and clean up please.”

Gavin assented and got to it, adding his admittedly well-made vase to the overwhelming number of well-made sculptures that were to be put into the kiln that night.

“You too, Ewan. Clean up and ready your- your bowl please.”

The resignation in his voice stung a bit. I’d grown used to my art only disappointing me, so this was a fresh opening on an old wound. Still, I followed his instructions and cleaned the drying art dirt from my clothes and skin. I got most of it out of my hair, but I’d still have to shower pretty thoroughly if I didn’t want to come to school tomorrow speckled with bland playdough. I’d worry about that later, for now I just wanted to eat. I cast a remorseful eye upon my handiwork one last time, then walked out the door and down to the cafeteria.

The tacos had been something of a special case, in that they were worse than the usual prison food the school served us. I kid of course, the food was perfectly serviceable most days, so long as you didn’t set your expectations too high. Turns out some things are the same everywhere, not, as I was very mistaken before moving, just in the Midwest. The food was much the same here as back north: adequate.

There were exceptions of course, but as a senior I’d memorized what to avoid long before coming here, and the wisdom had yet to fail me, even in this strange, dry land. For example, always avoid the mac’n cheese, only eat pizza from the a la carte, and only take the bread and peanut butter if you’ve got enough milk to ensure you can unglue your jaws. And of course, always look forward to mashed potato day.

I don’t know if the gods of school lunch just bless this particular foodstuff or if instant potatoes are simply impossible to fail without serious effort, but the potatoes and gravy were always delicious, especially when paired with chicken in the form of nuggets or patties, the only other thing impossible to make truly horrible. Mashed potato day is a ray of hope in a sea of mediocrity, and today was one such day.

I think the one of the lunch ladies had grown fond of me over the past month, because she always seemed to portion out a little extra onto my tray. It was a lovely gesture, one that was well appreciated on a day like this, less so on taco day. Her heart was in the right place though, so I always thanked her profusely. Especially when she gave me an extra half-scoop of squishy delight this day, smothered in what was probably chicken gravy. Add the nuggets and the feast was complete.

I sang one last song of praise and walked back out into the sitting area, idly wondering why people would bother with the other two lines, serving fish sandwiches and salad respectively, when they could eat like a king. Or at least a modestly payed retail worker. It didn’t matter though; all I knew was I couldn’t wait to sit down and eat. And that’s when I fell, sent flying as something snagged my foot.

If you ever feel like nobody notices you, just drop a tray in the cafeteria, because I can guarantee you’ll have everyone’s attention. It’s loud, far louder than it has right to be.

My chest hit the ground first, soon followed by my chin. Pain blasted through my jaw and ricocheted around my brain, only made worse by the muffled scream of pain that forced its way past my clenched teeth. I grabbed my jaw with both hands and screamed through them again, slathering my chin in gravy. Thoughts dulled by the pain, I barely managed to feel out my teeth with my tongue, making sure none had fallen out. They were all there, but I still felt blood ooze under my tongue. I spat the acrid liquid onto the ground in front of me and gasped for breath. I wanted to puke, I wanted to scream again. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry. The room was entirely silent. Silent except for…

“Damn, what a clumsy bitch. Can’t even walk straight.”

No. Please no. Breathing heavily, I pushed myself off the floor. There the fucker was. Gavin sat three feet away, milk carton in hand, smugness plastered across his ugly fucking face and surrounded by a group of wide-eyed friends.

“What?” My voice was gravely. It hurt to talk. He grinned wider.

“Fuck, you deaf too? I said you’re clumsy.” He laughed. “Looking pretty bad there, aren’t you fags supposed to look good or something? Fashion and all that gay shit?”

That did it.

“WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM?!” I screamed, lurching to my feet. My head was still swimming, but my rage outweighed the possibility of concussion. “WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR DEAL?! WHY DON’T YOU EVER JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE?!”

Gavin looked to the people around him, gesturing as if to say “Can you believe this shit?”

“Don’t fuckin’ blame me, queer boy. It’s not my fault you can’t walk straight.”

My eyes felt strained by my anger, like my glare was physically moving them forward. “You tripped me.” I growled. I was vaguely aware of people moving closer to us, but it barely registered. “You fucking did this.”

“Nah,” He replied, leaning forward with that same stupid grin. “You’re just that clumsy, fag.”

I broke his nose.

Okay so I probably didn’t break it in one go like that, but I did punch his face as hard as I could, and his nose just happened to be where my fist landed. One moment I was staring him down and processing his words, and the next my fist was hanging in the air before me and Gavin was falling backwards into his friends.

I pulled my hand back and looked at it for a moment, then looked at the injured bully, being helped back up by the guys around him.

“Oh fuck. I slipped.” I ground out, wiping my hands on my pants. “Clumsy me.”

Gavin leapt forward and grabbed me by my collar with a roar, pinning me under him as we fell to the ground. I managed to keep my head from hitting the floor again, but just barely. “Fucking shit!” He snarled, wrapping one hand around my windpipe and striking with the other, hitting my eye, my mouth, my cheek. Tears and blood poured down his face. “That hurt you little bitch!”

I wanted him to know I didn’t care, but I also wanted to breathe and not hurt, none of which was happening. Trying to pull his hand away would waste what air I had, so instead I reached out to grip his nose between my thumb and forefingers, desperately twisting it to the side, crackling sensations reverberating through my fingers as blood dripped down my arm. As I’d hoped, he instinctively reached up to protect his face, jerking back enough to free me from his weight.

I slammed my fist into his hands with my own raspy battle cry, punching his nose through his protection, driving him back further. He fell onto his back, scooting away as blood flowed from around his fingers. People around us were yelling, but it was all incoherent to me. My heartbeat pounded in my head, screaming at me to keep fighting and make sure he couldn’t hurt me again, and I felt inclined to listen. He’d backed up against a pillar, with nowhere else to go.

Pained coughs racked my body as I drew myself up and stumbled forward, dropping myself onto his legs. “I’m not a target.” I growled. Then I punched him. And then I punched him again. And then again. I had no plan; I didn’t even know what I was doing. I just wailed on him as he covered his head. That was fine, I could still hit the rest of him. My hands hurt, my face hurt, I felt dizzy and sick. That was fine, I just kept beating him with my fists, screaming with each blow. “I’m not a target! I’m not your fucking punching bag! I’m not!”

Someone finally pulled me off him, dragging me back with my arms behind my head. That was fine too, I didn’t want to keep going anyway. I just wanted him to know. I just wanted everyone to know. I just wanted him to leave me alone.

“How do you feel?”

I pulled the ice pack from my mouth. I kept the other one on my eye. I was grateful to the security officer for finding them for me, considering I was being held in a classroom as far from the nurse’s office as possible. As far from Gavin as possible.

“Still hurts.” I said. My eye was black, my lip was torn, and I was pretty sure some of the blood had dried in my throat. “And my hands are cold.” They also still hurt. The movies never tell you how much it hurts to punch someone’s face like that.

The man shook his head. He wasn’t wearing a nametag and I didn’t feel up to asking. “Fuckin’ hell kid, that was one hell of a fight. You’ll be lucky if they don’t expel you.”

The idea of that, which I’d been pointedly NOT thinking about, suddenly settled on my shoulders like a lead tarp. If I got expelled, forget the educational repercussions, Gramma would probably shoot me on the spot.

This really wasn’t how I’d hoped the day would go. This wasn’t how I’d hoped my fucking LIFE would go, but I guess we don’t always get to choose.

“Will they?”

The man shrugged. “The principle decides that. He’ll talk to you after the other kid.” His radio squawked and he left the room to talk into it. It didn’t make a difference; I could still hear it. I couldn’t understand a single thing and I was surprised he could, but I could hear it, nonetheless. “Good news kid, Principal Michaels just finished up. It’s your turn.”

“Great.” Just great. Really great. Absolutely great. So great I could die. I followed him from the room and down the hall. It was weird, being escorted through an empty hallway in the middle of a school day, like the walk to the electric chair. Yay me.

The security officer motioned me through the office door, then took his place standing next to it. I guess in case I proved dangerous? It felt unnecessary, but in all fairness, I had punched Gavin’s nose concave, so what did I know? I took my seat and waited in silence.

Principal Michaels looked the same as before, with suspenders, tiny glasses on his pudgy face and a cowboy hat. It might have been a different hat this time though, it looked a little darker than I remembered. He too, sat quietly, staring at me over his frames. The silence didn’t make me feel any better.

Finally, he spoke.

“I understand you got in a tiny kerfuffle with Gavin today.”

“Y-yes?” I’d never heard anybody use that word in real life. Ever. Was the south even a real place, or was I just trapped in an incredibly convoluted nightmare?

“Can you tell me why?” His drawl was thick today.

I nodded, careful to keep my voice calm. “He started it. He tripped me and mocked me in front of the whole cafeteria.” I hated saying it out loud, it made the fight sound less justified than I’d have liked.

“So you broke his nose?”

_Hoo boy_. I nodded again and braced myself. “Yeah.”

Principal Michaels watched me in silence again, seemingly mulling everything over. I really didn’t like it. Finally, picked one of the papers up from his desk and leaned back in his chair. “I understand you’ve had a problem for a while now. You two fightin’ all the time.”

I made an ambiguous sound. “It’s something like that. He started it though.”

“Oh I know.” He replied, setting the paper down again. “Gavin’s told me all about his problem with you. He even told me why. You should know, I don’t tolerate bullying in my school, though I do encourage my students to avoid causing problems for themselves. To help avoid issues like this from arising.”

I wasn’t sure I liked where this was going. “Problems, sir?”

He waved. “Making targets of themselves. Annoyin’ the other students, stirrin’ up trouble, bein’ a general problem. Doesn’t excuse the bullyin’ and harrasin’, but it does help if it’s not temptin’ them to misbehave.”

I was sure I didn’t like where this was going. “Problems like being gay, sir?”

Principal Michaels frowned and leaned forward, pointing a finger. “Nobody’s sayin’ that son, I just want to be sure you ain’t makin’ things harder on yourself, on top of bein new here.”

I dug my nails into my legs. “I’ve never had to make anything harder for myself, sir. I find I can leave that up to everyone else.”

He waved me off again. “I’m not sayin’ it’s your fault, just offerin’ some advice. I understand you’ve been raised by your grandmother since you were young.”

Deep breath. “My parents died when I was five, yes.”

Principal Michaels nodded. “I understand it can be hard on a boy, growing up without a strong father figure in his life. Makes him seek to fill that void in other ways, which ain’t a bad thing, mind you. It’s only natural to try to find stability.”

What.

I stared at the man, unsure of how I was meant to take his words. More accurately, I was unsure of how to appropriately respond. I knew exactly what he was getting at.

“Homosexuality does not stem from daddy issues, sir.”

He grimaced. “Nobody here said anythin’ like that. I just want you to consider your options moving forward. We don’t want to cause another incident like todays. I think helpin’ you find another source of stability might be beneficial. Findin’ a team to be a part of might help you fit in, figure yourself out.”

_Calm voice, calm._ “Am I in trouble or not?”

“You are.” He sighed, apparently realizing he wasn’t getting any further on this subject today. “You won’t be suspended, but I’ll be sendin’ a disciplinary notice home. You need to understand you can’t be picking fights with the other students.

_I haven’t picked anything you rodeo clown._ “I understand sir. I’ll be careful to avoid provoking anyone.”

“Good, good. This’ll be your only warnin’ son, don’t cause another incident. Most wouldn’t be so lenient, especially when their son is involved. Now git back to class.”

Oh. Oh goodie. I nodded, stood up, and walked out of his office without another word. Turns out Dante was wrong; the ninth circle of hell isn’t a frozen lake, it’s just high school.

“You look good.” Olivia murmured as I took my usual seat. I nodded in thanks as she handed me the instructions for whatever assignment the class was currently working on. Something about homeostasis or osmosis.

“Thanks, I think I look good in black and blue.”

“Better than Gavin looks in red. You crushed his nose.”

I grimaced and tried to focus on the worksheet. As cathartic as fighting back had been, the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. The memory of the fight, the pain, the wet crunch of impact, it was all still fresh in my mind, and it scared me. It scared me to know I could hurt someone that much, even if he definitely deserved it. “I feel like shit. How is it possible to feel vindicated and disappointed in yourself at the same time?”

“Because you’re a good person. It’s why I like you.”

I paused, blinked and looked up at her. Then I closed my eyes one more time, trying to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating from brain damage.

Olivia was smiling.

I was nearly in shock. In the entirety of the two months since I’d met her, I’d never seen her break her glare of neutral disinterest in favor of a cheerful expression. The closest she’d come had been the occasional upturned corner when hacking Stacia’s account or otherwise being an internet gremlin.

Here though, her face softened, her eyes sparkled, and she almost seemed to radiate warmth. And then it was gone, lost in a mask of stony detachment once more.

It had been like spotting Bigfoot riding the Loch Ness Monster. I barely believed I’d seen it.

“You get one.” She clarified. “And nobody will believe you.”

“Uh… huh. What about Jake?”

“Nobody likes a smartass Ewan. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am.” I said with a salute. I may have had a shit storm brewing back home with Gramma, but at least I had a new, beautiful memory to get me through my summary execution.

Yay silver linings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had teachers accuse me of "flaunting my gayness" and making trouble for myself and it is honestly infuriating, though the alleged flaunting was apparently me answering a classmate's question about gay people.
> 
> Enough venting though, I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	9. Apologize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anger comes before reconciliation, conflict before revelation

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!” Gramma screamed, sending soapy water flying as she slammed her yellow-gloved hand on the counter. She’d clearly been cleaning for quite some time, just like she always did when she received bad news. Judging by the stack of dishes, the shining banister, the spotless kitchen, and the reflective sheen on the windows, she’d gotten the call before I’d even entered Mister Hick’s office. More than enough time to build the momentum needed to power-wash the first floor. This did not bode well.

“WELL? WHAT WERE YOU BLOODY THINKING?” She tore her gloves off and flung them against the faucet. “INJURING YOURSELF IN A FIGHT? BREAKING ANOTHER BOY’S BLOODY NOSE? WHAT MADE YOU THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED? DO YOU?!”

“I wasn’t trying to start anything.” I fought the urge to cover my ears. If she was breaking out the “bloodys” then she was well beyond just being angry. The kitchen may have been big, but no room was big enough to contain her volume. “I only-”

“WHAT IF YOU WERE EXPELLED?!” she shrieked. “WHAT IF YOU’D BEEN HURT WORSE? WHAT IF YOU’D BEEN THE ONE WITH THE BROKEN BODY? DO YOU EVER THINK THESE THINGS THROUGH YOU STUPID BOY?!”

“But I wasn’t!” I was trying very hard to stay calm. I’d had more than enough meltdowns since moving here and they needed to stop at some point, but chances were slim today would be the day. “Nothing bad happened, it’s fine.”

“IT’S NOT _FINE_! YOU BLOODY WELL KNOW IT’S NOT _FINE_! HE COULD HAVE GANGED UP ON YOU WITH HIS MATES! YOU COULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE WITH THE BROKEN BODY!” Her accent was growing more pronounced. We were reaching peak angry British.

“Gramma, please! If you’d just listen-”

“I DIDN’T THINK I RAISED A CHAVVY TWIT WHO THOUGHT WITH HIS ARSE AND FISTS!”

_“I DIDN’T START THAT FIGHT!”_ I hollered back. Deep breath, calming breath. I collected myself and tried again. “It was self-defense. He started it, just like he always does! He’s always like this!” I was very aware my volume was rising again, but at this point, keeping control was a losing battle. “Do you think I TRY to put myself in danger? I DIDN’T START SHIT!”

Gramma’s hand flashed and I flinched as I found her finger less than an inch from my nose. “Don’t try that wonky nonsense young man!” She snarled. “You didn’t have to stoop to his level! You bloody well could have walked away or told a teacher.” She took a deep breath and stepped back to the sink to begin scrubbing at an already pristine plate. “What made you think jeopardizing your future was a good idea?”

And for the second time that day, something snapped inside me. “BECAUSE I WAS SICK OF IT!” I screamed, slamming my fist on the counter and rattling the nearby glassware. “I’M SICK OF BEING HARRASSED! SICK OF BEING PICKED ON AND MADE FUN OF! WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO PUT UP WITH IT? WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO JUST TAKE THE FUCKING ABUSE?! WHY SHOULDN’T I FIGHT BACK? IT’S BEEN WEEKS AND BEING THE ‘BETTER PERSON’ HASN’T CHANGED A GODDAMN THING!”

“Ewan.”

“IT’S NOT FAIR! IT’S NEVER FUCKING FAIR!” I slammed the countertop again, knocking over a glass that rolled until it hit the fruit bowl.

“Ewan!”

“Why-!” my voiced came out choked and I drew in a hissing breath, swallowing painfully. “Why do I have to be better? Why can’t I just be left alone?”

“Ewan.” Gramma grabbed my shoulders and pulled me in, squeezing my anguished sobs out. “Enough boy. You’ve said enough.” She squeezed again and rubbed my back, letting my tears fall off my face and onto her shoulders.

“I can’t always be the better person.” I sobbed, clutching her tightly. “I can’t just let them hurt me like this.”

“Sshh. I know child, I know.” She patted my back gently. “Just breathe, breathe and let it out.”

So I did. For what felt like the dozenth time since we’d moved, I let my tears fall out as they willed, unable to obstruct their flow. And for what felt like the dozenth time since I’d moved here, someone else was there to help me through it, one sob at a time. I hated that I needed the help, but even so, I couldn’t deny it was true.

Eventually the tears stopped, and I sat down at the counter, realigning the glassware as Gramma made a pot of tea. I knew it was for comfort, but I still didn’t like the leaf-broth any more than I had that morning. I decided I could still appreciate the sentiment and waited for her to be ready to talk again.

“Now then,” she began, taking her seat next to me. “We’re nice and calm. No more crying and yelling, no more swearing. We clear?”

I nodded. “Clear. I’m sorry about that, it’s been a… a rough day.”

“Understandable. I was a tad upset myself, it seems.”

“I’ll say, you went full cockney for a while there!” I chuckled. “Been a while since you sounded quite so British as this.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve been this angry.” She replied. “I know I sounded utterly mad, but finding you’ve been lying is something a parent doesn’t stand for.” She gave me a rather pointed look as she poured hot water into two empty cups. “Been having trouble for a while, have you?”

I scratched my cheek nervously. “How’d you guess?”

She snorted. “Fights like this don’t come from nothing, boy. There’s always a buildup to violence.” She dipped her teabag and frowned. “Now, how long has this been going on? It’s time you be honest with me. No more hiding, like with that Sasha girl. I expect more from you.”

I snorted. “Her name’s ‘Stacia.’” I corrected. “And it’s funny you should mention her, she’s where this all started.”

“I had assumed.” Gramma stated wryly, dropping her used tea bag into the pot. “That there had been a reason she had ‘freaked out,’ as you so delicately put it.”

“Eheh. Yeah…”

“Explain. From the beginning, if you please.”

And so, I did. I told her about coming out on my first day. I told her about how Stacia had reacted, about how she’d spread the word everywhere, and about how Gavin had started to pick on me. I told her of my fight with Nadya and Cinder, about how we hadn’t talked in weeks. I explained that it had been my fault Lance and I had been trapped during the haboob, about how I’d become friends with Olivia and Jake, and how they’d stood up for me, and eventually how the fight started and how I’d felt, sitting atop Gavin’s body and beating him. And during all of it, she simply sat in silence, occasionally refilling her cup as she went through her tea. And finally, when all of it was over, she put down her cup and looked me in the eye.

“I’ve raised a stupid, stupid grandchild.”

“Uhh…?” Not quite the response I’d expected.

“If you’d simply come to me from the start, I’d have addressed the issue with the principal in the first week! Why did you hide this from me?”

“I didn’t want to worry you. You have so much to worry about taking care of Mister Asher, I didn’t want to give you another problem to deal with.” Plus, I’d been sure I could handle things myself. Pride is stupid.

She slapped my arm. “And that’s why you’re a fool. Your wellbeing is never too great of an issue for me to take the time for. It can always take precedence over Daniel’s needs for a single hour. That was one of the terms we agreed to when I accepted this job.”

I rubbed my shoulder. “Gramma, he’s a dying man. And your oldest friend.”

She sighed and shook her head. “And you’re my only grandchild,” she said, as if explaining to a toddler. “Love of my life, you are a foolish little boy without an ounce of common sense.” She stood up. “Now then, I’m sure you’d like to avoid being punished-”

“I would.” I agreed. 

“-and if you’d still like me to trust you can be left alone for the weekend-”

“Please please _please_ trust that you don’t have to take me.”

“-then you’ll spend the rest of the week proving you can stay out of trouble. You’ll do your homework and chores, you’ll stay out of fights, and you’ll stop keeping secrets from your family. Are we clear?”

“Transparently.” I replied, sullen apology dutifully displayed.

“Grand. Now be a love and tell Daniel it’s safe to come back in. He’s helping me make dinner tonight. But first…” she took my chin in her hand and examined my face. “Have you iced yourself properly? Your eye’s seen better days.

I pulled back and raised an eyebrow. “It’s fine. And you’re letting him cook tonight. You.”

She countered with her own heightened brow, though she let go without a fuss. “He insisted I learn the ‘proper’ way to make crayfish. I insisted he learn some respect. But he won the round of poker, so he’s allowed to teach me his way, I suppose.”

Well that was a surprise. “Since when do you play poker?”

“Since when do you break noses?”

“Fair point!” I called, scooting out of the kitchen. “I’ll send him your regards!”

“See that you do.” She said something else, but I was already too far down the hallway to hear.

“Huh. Gramma, playing poker.” I said to myself. “Guess I’m not the only one with secrets.”

“Y’ rarely are, kitten.”

I’d like to think it’s a sign of great mental strength that I didn’t immediately jump out of gay panic upon hearing Lance’s voice. Especially considering he’d just snuck up right behind me. Wearing boots. On a wood floor. The man was an absolute nightmare.

Deep breath. Subtle, deep breath. Turn and smile. “Hey Lance, what’s up? Aren’t you usually out late with the gan- er, with the guys Monday nights?”

He shrugged, helmet in hand. “Usually yeah, but ah heard you got in a fight. Wanted to make sure my favorite cat hadn’t been declawed while ah was gone.” He winked. My stomach started doing backflips.

I shrugged; happy the hallway was dimly lit. “Gavin was being Gavin. I guess I just had to teach him to be someone else.” _Great job, you sound like an idiot._

“’Bout time someone taught him.” Lance frowned and reached out, rubbing under my black eye with his thumb. “Shame about yer eye though. Not too hurt, are ya?”

Well, now my heart had joined the acrobatics routine. If my face grew any hotter it would set his gloves on fire. “W-well you should have seen the other guy!” I proclaimed, casually backing just out of arms reach. “Trounced his ass. You know me, I don’t take anybody’s crap!” I did not look Lance in the eye. I was too nervous to even look him in the face. Nor did I want him to see mine, which was now both black and red. God above, I was a mess.

Lance barked out a laugh, apparently oblivious. Thank you, sweet merciful God. “True enough, I heard all about it from Luke n’ th’ others. They said you broke his nose!”

Oh yay. I was so happy I’d impressed angry Luke. My life was complete. “Oh, they heard about that, huh?”

Lance snorted and clapped my back. “Whole school knows you got claws now kitten! Can’t believe ah took you for a cute little pushover first time ah saw ya!”

Can unintentional flirting leave you with heart palpitations? My chest was going to explode if this kept on much longer. They’d probably write “died of romantic ineptitude” in my eulogy. At least someone would be able to laugh at that. Probably Nadya, now that I thought of it.

I shrugged again, hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt. “What can I say? My innocent nature has been slowly corrupted by bad boy proximity. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Well the downplay worked, Lance laughed even harder at that. I was just happy I could get it out without stuttering.

“Yeah, Ah’m REAL sorry. But you know, yer not half-bad, kit.”

“That’s what they tell me. Truly, it is a song of prai-” My phone blipped. I recognized the text tone.

“Kitten? Hellooo?” Lance waved his hand in my face. “Ya froze up on me. See a ghost or somethin’?”

“Uh… what? No, no I’m good. I shook my head. “Just a sec.”

I checked my phone.

**Are you available for a video call?**

It was from Cinder.

“Lance, can you tell your dad Gramma’s ready for him?”

“Ah guess. Y’okay?” He sounded genuinely concerned.

“That remains to be seen.” I waved goodbye and hurried to the stairs. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

“See ya at dinner.” He agreed in confusion, waving back and walking away.

I sighed. Today was just full of surprises, wasn’t it?

**Yes.**

“Hey.” I said, patting the air in front of me three times. “What’s up?”

_“Hey.”_ Cinder signed, repeating my motion. _“We need to talk.”_

It hadn’t taken me long to set my laptop up despite this being the first video call we’d done since I’d moved to Arizona. It took a little longer than planned to get the call going, but that was mainly due to struggling to adjust the camera and audio settings. They’d updated the app since I’d last used it.

Cinder had changed since I’d last seen her and it felt weird. She’d grown her hair out and it hung in a loose tail over her shoulder, now dyed a deep sapphire blue, growing lighter as it approached the end. She’d also pierced her lower lip twice, with a silver ring stuck in the corners of her mouth. Oh, and she was wearing her glasses instead of contacts, but that might have just been because she was home, rather than a stylistic choice. Still, she had the same warm brown eyes and despite her serious expression, she couldn’t fully hide how happy she was to see me.

“You look nice.” I said, circling my finger around my face and brushing off the palm of my hand. “What about?”

_“Thank you.”_ She signed, smiling warmly. _“And we need to talk about this.”_ She pointed to the side, shifting her screen to follow the gesture to… Nadya. Wonderful.

Nadya, in contrast, had barely changed. She looked a little thinner, a touch more tired maybe, but her sullen expression was familiar. She was wearing a wrinkled black hijab and her favorite shirt, the one that said “Can’t talk, plotting murders” in dripping red lettering.

“Hey.” I didn’t bother sounding happy to see her. She knew what she did.

“You look like shit.” She replied, jerking her hands through the signs. “Someone finally ballsy to kick your ass without my permission?”

Well then. “Well it was nice seeing you Cinder!” I said, grabbing my screen and standing up. “Less so you, Nadya. But I’ve got better things to do than sit through an extra helping of abuse, so I’ll just be going. Cheers.”

“WAIT!”

I froze. Cinder had spoken. Actually spoken. She never spoke aloud. Ever.

I sat back down, eyes wide. Nadya looked just as shocked.

“Please wait. Please, just talk to us.” It hurt, hearing Cinder talk like that. She hated her voice. Even though she couldn’t hear it, she knew it sounded off and she hated seeing people react. But the sheer desperation in her voice and on her face, well it made it even worse. “Please. I can’t do this again.” She looked at Nadya, tears in her eyes. “Just. Talk to him.”

My eyes stung. “Cind… Cinder I-”

“Shut up!” Nadya muttered, eyes down.

“Fuckin’ ‘scuse you Nadya?” I growled. Cinder glared at her, rubbing her throat.

“This isn’t easy for me!” She looked back up. “None of this is easy. It’s hard, you know? It’s hard that this is all on me. It’s hard that I have to tell you everything after you left-”

“We fucking MOVED!” I yelled, throwing up my hands. “What do you want from me? I never asked to move across the fucking country, least of all to Ari-fucking-ZONA! What the hell do you want Nadya?! You are _the_ most frustrating girl I know, and I sat in detention with fucking STACIA!”

“I’m not a girl!” She bellowed, slamming her hands on either side of the laptop and snarling directly into the camera. “There, you happy now? I’m not a girl and you’re not fucking here for it!”

“Guys!” Cinder yelled, pulling her back. Her voice sounded hoarse and pained. “Please!”

“What?!” Nadya demanded, pulling away. “He fucking knows now, right? Fucking mission accomplished!” Cinder put her hand on Nadya’s arm.

“What-!” I forced myself to stop. As angry as I was, more yelling wouldn’t get us any closer to making up. Nadya had just dropped something of a bomb on the conversation, and I couldn’t afford to keep losing control, not if I wanted to get my friends back. So I took a deep breath, willing myself calm before I spoke again, this time remembering to sign my words out again.

“What do you mean?”

I’m not going to take full credit for deescalating the situation, Cinder was a far more calming influence than I could ever be. But slowing down, taking it to a familiar place, it helped. Nadya too, took a deep breath, let her whole body relax. For the first time since the start, we were calm. Or at the very least, we were in control.

“I’m not a girl, okay? I’m just not. I don’t feel like one, I don’t want to be called one. It’s not who I am.”

“Then…” I hesitated. I didn’t know the right thing to ask. I didn’t want to upset he- not her. “What do you feel like then”

Nadya took a bracing breath. “A boy. I feel like- no. I AM a boy.” Sh- No, _He_ let out a long, rough breath as Cinder rubbed his back. “I’m a boy.”

I swallowed. “How… long have you felt this way?” I shook my head. My sign language was slacking, but it was hard to keep up with everything. “Sorry, how long have you known this?”

He sighed and leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. It was weird seeing his face so close to the screen, curved around the edges of the camera. “A while now, but I only really got it a couple months ago. I wanted to talk about it. But then you moved.”

“Oh. Oh god, I’m so sorry Nad.” I could only manage to sign out “I’m so sorry.” I couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like, suddenly realizing something so important about yourself, something so life changing, and at the same time, losing one of your closest friends. It would be horrible. Not horrible enough to justify treating that friend like garbage, but I could set that aside for now. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, well.” He grumped. “Not your fault.”

When I first came out, it was to Nadya and Cinder. I trusted them to support me more than anyone else, and I was still terrified they’d reject me. You can never be sure how someone will react when you tell them, and plenty of people will surprise you, one way or the other. They didn’t though. They were there, supporting me, defending me, even helping me build up the courage to tell Gramma. If I they weren’t there, I don’t know I’d have been half as comfortable with myself as I was now.

I hadn’t been there for Nadya. True, it hadn’t been my fault and true, it was out of my control. But I’d still failed him. And even now, I couldn’t be there to help. I couldn’t hug him, I couldn’t stand with him, I could hardly support him. Or at least, I couldn’t physically. So I smiled.

“So then dude,” I started, moving the laptop to my bed and lying down. “Got a new name picked out?”

Nadya looked at Cinder, who shrugged. _“Do you?”_ She signed out with an encouraging smile.

“Y-yeah. It’s Nadir. I was thinking Nadir.”

I snorted. It wasn’t very nice of me, but I couldn’t help it. “Not very creative of you.”

“Fuckin’ what?”

I readjusted myself, sitting cross legged to better facilitate sign language. “You could have any name.” I stuck my tongue out as I tapped my fingers together. “Why not try something really different, like Tony?”

The newly christened Tony narrowed his eyes. “You’re fucking with me.”

“What~? Nooo, I just think it suits you.” I grinned like a little shit. “You look like a Tony to me.”

Cinder shook her head, bringing her thumb and first two fingers together. _“No.”_

“Glad someone agrees!” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony’s a terrible name!”

_“Awful.”_ Cinder signed. _“You’re definitely a Dave.”_

“Not you too, Cind.” New Dave groaned.

“Too ‘old drunk uncle.’” I agreed as I stroked an imaginary beard. “How about Larry?”

“No!”

_“Hector?”_

God no.”

“Melvin!”

“That’s a terrible name!”

Cinder giggled. _“Ewan.”_

“That’s HIS name!

“Tony!”

“YOU ALREADY _SAID_ THAT!” Tony yelled, falling off his chair and hitting the floor. “FUCK!”

Cinder and I just broke down laughing at that point, barely managing to keep off the ground ourselves. I fell onto my back, clutching my sides until as I shook from laughter. It felt good, laughing like this again. I’d missed them.

Tony dragged himself back into view. “You’re both assholes!” He growled.

“Aw, but you love us!” I giggled.

_“And we love you.”_ Cinder signed, poking him in the nose at the end of “You.”

He pushed her hand away. “Keep thinking that, you assholes.”

“Nadir’s not a bad name I guess.” I chuckled. “It’ll have to do.”

_“Yeah, it could be worse.”_ Cinder’s hands wobbled as she struggled to keep her giggling in check.

“Assholes.” Nadir repeated, but he was smiling. We all were. And as we sat there, talking and teasing each other over through the screen, it felt like the rest of the world was smiling too.

“Sorry.”

My laughter trailed off as I gasped for breath. “Huh?”

Nadir looked away. “I’m sorry. Sorry I called you a fag and all that other stuff.”

Oh yeah, he had. For a moment, I’d entirely forgotten I was supposed to be mad at him. It had hurt my feelings, but…

“Yeah. I’m sorry too. For what I said.”

He smiled. “It’s cool. It’s not like you were as mean as me. You should get on my level.”

“Ugh.” I groaned, throwing my head back for effect. “You’re still an ass though.”

“Asshole.” He replied, but his heart wasn’t in it and neither was mine. I’d had enough of being angry, I was ready to mend the bridges I’d burned behind me.

“-So he said I’ve gotta lose weight before the mastectomy.” Nadir said. “The doctor said I was close last week, so I just need to keep working on it.”

I nodded. “Makes sense, I guess. By the way, how do you want us to handle this?”

“Handle what?”

“The whole…” I lowered my voice a little. “Trans thing. Can I tell Gramma about it when I let her know we made up or should I keep it a secret for now?”

Nadir furrowed his brow. “I’m… not ready yet.” He said quietly. “My parents don’t even know.”

_You went to the doctor in secret?_ Cinder asked, frowning slightly as she tapped her lips with the back of her thumb.

“Had to, you know dad’s an Imam. Whatever his reaction is, he’ll be doing it to set an example.”

I nodded. Dilan Jawahir was by no means a close-minded man, but he was staunchly religious and more than a little strict. He’d never treated me rudely, even after coming out, but he never seemed fully comfortable around me either. “My lips are sealed.”

“Thank.”

“Welc.”

“Knock knock _._ ” Lance cracked my door open. “Hey Kitten, you in here? Your Gran says it’s time for dinner.”

“Oh shit, already?” I glanced at the computer clock. Had it been an hour already? No, it had been over two since we’d started talking, well past seven and edging toward eight. _Gramma must be having more trouble than she thought._ “Kay, thanks dude!” I called. “Be down in a few.”

“See ya at the table.” He confirmed, and then he was gone.

“Whew, that took longer than I thought. Guess we lost track of time.”

“It’s not that late.” Nadir said, popping a fry into his mouth. Cinder’s mom had brought them snacks in the middle of our chat, fries and nuggies and some drinks. I smiled and exchanged pleasantries before Cinder shooed her out, eager to eat and continue talking. “Dinner can wait.”

“ _He’s an hour ahead.”_ Cinder reminded him, chicken nugget hanging from her mouth. _“Different time zone, remember?”_

“Oh yeah.”

My stomach growled at the sight of their nearly empty platter. “And some of us haven’t been snacking during the call.”

“What do you mean ‘snack’? This is dinner for normal people.”

“Well I suppose I’m not very normal then.” I didn’t know what Gramma and Mister Asher had planned to make with the crayfish, but anything sounded good right now. “And I haven’t eaten since lunch.” Before lunch, actually. “So as much as it is to watch you guys eat, I think I’ll call it a night and feed myself before I die.”

Nadir smirked, waving a nugget in front of the camera. “Sorry you have to be so weak. Guess we’ll just go on without you.”

_“Text us later.”_ Cinder signed, snatching the nugget and taking a bite. _“We should plan a visit sometime!”_

I grinned and waved goodbye. “I’ll think about it. I’m pretty tired of you guys already, I might not want to talk anymore.”

“Plus you wanna go hang out with your boooyfriend.” Nadir sang, making a kissy face. “You’re gonna go feast on his huge, homegrown, spicy southern-”

“Bye!” I snapped the laptop shut, cutting him off. My own invasive thoughts were bad enough around Lance, I didn’t need to be given any more. I stretched, hopped off the bed, and padded downstairs. “Geez, we just made up and she-” I shook my head. It would take a bit, but I was determined to get it right. “He’s already annoying. Dinner had better be fantastic, I’m gonna need all the energy I can get.”

I stared. Before me sat a platter of small, brown, golf ball sized spheres, next to a small bowl of pale orange sauce. Light wisps of steam trailed off the plate, carrying the scent of peanut oil and spice.

“What am I looking at?”

“Fried crawfish etouffee balls.” Gramma replied, pouring herself a glass of wine. She sounded tired. “Try them.”

I poked one with my fork. It felt firm and it rolled across the plate. I shrugged and cut it open, greeted by a rush of spice-scented steam as a cascade of creamy rice, slices of green onion and teeny tiny naked shrimp rushed out onto my plate. I looked to the sauce, then back to the mess. I wasn’t sure how to proceed.

“Try dippin’ it.” Lance suggested, picking one up with his fingers and demonstrating, taking a hearty bite. “Mmm mm. Delicious Ms. Opal. You really did make these nice.”

“You’re too kind Lance.” Gramma replied with a heavy sigh. “They did turn out nicely, didn’t they? But…”

“But?” Mister Asher prompted, wicked grin on his face. He leaned forward.

“But.” Gramma ground out, shooting him a look over her glasses. “I’d have botched them if Daniel hadn’t helped.” She grimaced. “Happy now?”

“Oh yes.” He replied, taking a leisurely sip of water. “I’m tickled I could be of such help. No thanks necessary.”

She looked at me and rolled her eyes. “I didn’t intend any. How is it, Ewan?”

I dipped one of the balls, blew on it, and took a cautious bite. It was crunchy and smooth, tasty too. It was still a bit hot, but a little tongue juggling made it tolerable. The problem though…

“Ah! Spicy!” I snatched up my cup and gulped down my water. It was way spicier than I was prepared for. “Ack! What’s in this?”

Lance and Mister Asher laughed.

“S’matter, too much for ya?” Lance popped a ball into his mouth. “Thought you were supposed to like these things?”

“Lance, that’s no way to talk to him.” Mister Asher admonished. “Some folks just can’t handle their spices.” They smiled at each other, like it was the funniest thing in the world.

I put down my empty glass. “Probably not what he meant. And I can handle spice just fine! Just… not this much.”

“Stay away from the sauce.” Gramma warned. “It’s the tipping point. And the addition that somebody-” She glared at Mister Asher, who smiled back innocently. “-Couldn’t live without. Try them with ketchup or dressing, it tempers the heat.” She kindly demonstrated, seemingly only slightly upset with the spice level herself.

I nodded and gave it a try. It helped, but I still wasn’t the biggest fan. I’d be refilling my glass repeatedly for the rest of the meal, that I knew.

“Ya can take a punch but can’t take a little heat?” Lance shook his head. “Kinda disappointing.”

“Those aren’t remotely related.” I said, helping myself to the bowl of fruit salad. The cool sweetness extinguished the fire on my tongue, and I sighed in relief. “And I’d rather not take either now, thanks. It hurts my lip.”

“Speaking of,” Mister Asher began, wiping his mouth. “How’re you feeling? That’s quite the shiner you’ve got there.”

I shrugged and took another sip of water. “The ice helped, but the nurse said I’d need to keep applying it for the next few days.” It was annoying, but I didn’t want to look like a raccoon for a week, or however long it took for black eyes to heal up. It was my first one, so I wasn’t sure what all I was supposed to do. What did it eat?

He nodded. “Looks painful. It would have been better to avoid the fight, but any you can walk away from is a victory.” He grimaced and folded his hands. “And some fights can’t be avoided. Was this one of them?”

Gramma tossed a glance that said, “Think carefully.” So I did.

“I could have avoided it.” I admitted slowly, picking over my words. And my plate. “But I think it was important. Even if it doesn’t change anything, I still proved I’m not an easy target. I wish it hadn’t had to come to blows, but…”

“But he deserved it.” Lance said, snorting disdainfully. “Gavin’s a piece of shit dad, always has been. Ewan’s just the first guy to fight back. Sometimes you just gotta beat sense into someone.”

Gramma stood up and left the room, leaving her dishes behind her. A moment later, we heard the front door shut.

I shrugged. “I think she’s still mad at me.”

Mister Asher shook his head. “She’s just concerned. Opal’s no stranger to fights herself-”

_That’s for sure._

“-but you’re her grandchild. It’s her job to worry about you. You’ve been keeping a lot from her since you moved here, and this wasn’t the best way to learn about it.”

I winced. He had me there, no doubt about it. I’d had a bad day, but she hadn’t had it easy either.

“I hadn’t thought of that.” I replied quietly, pushing my food back and forth. “And now I kinda wish none of this had happened.”

“A wise man knows to pick his battles.” Mister Asher said as he stood up. He hobbled by, putting his hand on my shoulder for a moment as he passed. “But sometimes violence is a necessary last resort. Much as she might hate to admit it, you were right to fight back today. Don’t regret standin’ up for yourself. Lance might not have the best track record…” He tossed a reproachful smile his son’s way. Lance crossed his arms. “…But he’s right. Someone has to stand up to bullies.” And with that, he followed Gramma out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

We sat in silence for a few moments as I took the time to organize my thoughts. Then I turned to Lance.

“Should we clean this up?”

“Probly.” He said, swallowing the last of his food. “C’mon. I’ll help you wash.”

“Thanks.”


	10. Mama

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday comes and so does the sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, I might have gotten a little indulgent when writing the scenes with Olivia's parents

True to my word, I kept out of trouble for the rest of the week. People mostly avoided me, which was probably for the best. I knew they were talking about the incident, they weren’t exactly subtle with their whispering, but nobody brought it up directly and that was good enough for me. I didn’t even have to deal with Gavin for a few days, since he didn’t show up for class. Rumor was he’d been getting cosmetic surgery to fix his nose, but my guess was he just didn’t want to show his face until he got over him embarrassment for being beaten by a fag. If I was lucky, I wouldn’t see him until Monday.

I wasn’t lucky. He showed up Friday morning with his nose in a splint and a scowl big enough to cover a billboard. He didn’t talk to me though, a small victory in its own right. He just kept scowling all through English and art, and I was beginning to wonder if I’d somehow broken more than just his nose. Still, he left me alone, and I was more than happy to return the favor.

Jake had been right about Olivia too; she’d agreed to the sleepover with only minimal prodding. She even had a few suggestions, though they mostly came down to horror movies, snack types, giving her the Wi-Fi password early so she could bunker down faster... you know, pretty normal stuff. She did still agree to go though, and I was unreservedly excited for Friday. I only hoped Gramma would let me stock up on enough essential garbage food to get us through the night.

Speaking of garbage food, I brought my own lunch on Friday. A quick check of the menu had failed to impress, and I refused to choke down a single bite of whatever the school thought qualified as meatloaf. Hence, pb&j. The gentleman’s sandwich of choice. And as a surprise accompaniment, Cinder messaged me just as I was unwrapping my masterpiece.

**So… Excited for the sleepover tonight? (** **Ꙩ͡.Ꙩ)**

I squinted at my phone and took a bite of my sandwich. What the hell kind of emotion was that meant to express?

**How are you doing that with your phone?**

**It’s a secret (҉_҉)**

**Right…**

**Dont question it. The girls a mystery**

**Oh hey Nadya.** “Wait, no.” I muttered, deleting and retrying. **Sup Nadir. Aren’t you guys in class?**

**Nup. Snowday.**

“Ah c’mon!” Snow days would probably be one of the biggest things I’d end up missing after moving to the middle of the dessert. That and a temperate climate. Plus, it seemed early for a snow day, it was still only mid-October.

**Well aren’t you lucky?**

**Well aint you jealous.** Nadir knew me well.

I groaned. **Insanely. Life’s not fair.**

**Do you guys even get days off for the weather? (?_?)**

I chuckled. **I mean, we got out early because of the haboob that one time. No snow days though, so it wouldn’t be the same either way.**

**Heatstroke days.** Nadir supplied. **Get crispy and stay home.**

I nearly snorted my sandwich out my nose laughing at that, though I was able to keep it to just a mild coughing fit.

“Dude, you okay? That sounded bad.”

I coughed one last time as Jake slipped into the seat next to me. Olivia was there too, apparently having taken her seat while I was distracted. The girl was the very definition of stealthy.

“’M fine, just surprised.” I squinted at his tray. Via seemed to have the same idea as me, pulling several small containers from a nondescript brown bag. Jake though? He’d settled for the meatloaf. Or at least that’s what I assumed the mess on his tray was supposed to be. “What in the name of Food Jesus is that?”

Jake looked down at his tray. “Meatloaf, I think.”

Now, I’d never claimed to be an expert on cooking. I could hold my own in the kitchen, but I was by no means the undisputed champion of the culinary arts. Even so, I was fairly certain meatloaf was not supposed to be gray, nor was it supposed to look anywhere near that smooth. The addition of mashed potatoes and corn only made it worse, throwing the contrast between what was edible and what surely couldn’t even be considered non-hazardous into sharp relief.

He looked back up and shrugged. “It probably tastes better than it looks. Only one way to tell, right?”

“Jake.” I took a deep breath. “Please don’t eat that. I’m not sure it’s made of earthly material, let alone edible.”

Olivia just stared. “I didn’t know meat came in that color.”

He waved us off. “It can’t be that bad! Besides, I’ve definitely eaten worse than this!”

“Not something to be proud of.” This was concerning. I was concerned.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. “It smells like void. I perceive only a lack of smell from your plate.”

“Okay, now you’re just being dramatic. Look, I’ll prove it’s okay.” He picked up his fork and tore a chunk off. It was gray on the inside too. “Ready?”

I shook my head. “Please don’t eat that. What if I gave you my sandwich?”

“Dude it’s fine!”

“It’s definitely not fine!”

Olivia shook her head. “I think I saw it move.”

Jake didn’t even respond to that; he just groaned and took the bite. We watched in horror as he chewed thoughtfully, eyes distant.

Olivia leaned forward. “Dying yet?”

Jake frowned. “It’s… crunchy? And squishy.” He swallowed, with some difficulty. “Doesn’t taste the best, but it could be worse.”

I stared at him. “How are you healthy? How do you eat like that and not die?”

Via shook her head. “Scientists have wondered that for years.”

He laughed and took another bite. I put my sandwich down, suddenly less than hungry. I was glad he wasn’t dying but watching this made me consider fasting. That food was an abomination and his stomach was a supernatural wonder, that was the only explanation for what I’d just witnessed.

“So anyway,” he said, taking another horrifying bite. “What’s the plan for tonight? Watch some movies, eat some junk, do whatever you’re supposed to do at a sleepover?”

I nodded and re-bagged my sandwich. “Basically. Gramma and Mister Asher should probably be gone by the time we get there, so we’ll have the run of the place.” I paused to think. “Not sure about Lance though, he’s usually doing his own thing.” Thinking about it, I really wasn’t sure how he spent his Friday nights. He just seemed to disappear after school and then show up around noon the next day. He was still something of a mystery to me, although I suspected it helped that he had his own ride anywhere he wanted to go.

The privilege of being mentally sound, I suppose.

Jake grinned and waved. “He can always join us! The more the merrier, right Via?”

Her lips twitched. “Can we stop him? He lives there.”

Jake laughed and agreed, I just smiled. She had a valid point, and I wouldn’t be too opposed to spending some more time around him. I might not even embarrass myself for once.

_No._ I shook the thought from my head. It wouldn’t be fair to Jake or Olivia to try to fenagle what I wasn’t quite ready to accept was a crush into a friends thing, especially when it was the first real “friends thing” we’d be doing at my house that wasn’t even really my house. _And there’s no force on earth that can keep me from doing something dumb._

“So I’ll meet you guys after school then?” I asked, taking note as Jake started eating around what remained of his alleged meatloaf. Olivia also noticed. We shared a look.

“Sounds good to me!” Jake sounded a little strained, though still very positive. He stood up, picking his tray up with him. “Can’t wait!”

I leaned forward, trying my hardest not to smile. “Not gonna finish your loaf?”

Jake started. “What? Uhm, no. Guess I just wasn’t very hungry today!” He was starting to sweat.

“Just gonna throw it away, huh?”

“Y-yup. That’s what you do with food you don’t want, right?”

Olivia snapped a picture. “You’re turning green.”

Jake stood for a second, swallowed, then dumped his tray in the trash and threw it on the table. “Shut up!” He snapped and took off running.

I’d never say “I told you so,” but he definitely left in the direction of the bathroom. He might have even made it.

“Wow, so this is your house?” The house was really quite nice, a one story, modestly large caramel colored building with dark brown windowsills and a white front door.

Olivia opened the front door. “Yep. Watch the basil, it hasn’t been pruned.”

I followed her instructions, carefully stepping around the surprisingly large number of pots filled with not only basil, but thyme and even some flowering rosemary plants that had been crowded around the stained-glass windows that flanked the doorway. Further in shoes piled up on a black mat, watched over by a beautiful painting of a bird and flowers, soft swirls within its wings matching the patterns etched into the petals.

Further in was a dining room. Or at least I assumed it was used for dining, it was covered in a variety of papers and filing folders of all colors and sizes. Olivia dropped her backpack on one of the chairs, yawned, and called out “Mamá, estoy en casa.”

“¡En mi oficina!” Came the reply from the other end of the house. Olivia sauntered off in the direction of her mother’s voice, only stopping to stick her head back into the room when she noticed I hadn’t moved.

She raised a brow. “Why?” 

“Oh.” I rubbed my neck. “Well it’s my first time here, so I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries or anything…” I trailed off. She was giving me a look. “Follow you?”

She widened her eyes pointedly and nodded. “Follow me.”

“Okay.” And I did follow her, through a kitchen with a bowl of avocados and oranges, down a hallway with pictures of both various dog breeds and people that I could only assume were Olivia’s family, and finally to a closed door with a paper taped to it that read “Toca primero.” _Knock first._ My seventh-grade Spanish teacher would be proud of me.

Naturally, Olivia strolled through without knocking, leaving the door wide open behind her as she walked into what I could only describe as a paperwork isolation cell. The room was dark, illuminated only by the screens of a set of three computer monitors that cast a pale light on a floor so covered in books and binders and stray papers that I wouldn’t have known it was hardwood if there hadn’t been a single pathway from the door to the desk. The desk was similarly covered, with a mess of paper plates and empty mugs filled with silverware on one side and stacks of what looked like technical manuals and stray pens on the other. The only truly clean spot stood just under the trio of monitors, presumably where the keyboard was meant to be, in front of which sat a woman in what had to be a ludicrously expensive and ridiculously comfortable computer chair.

Olivia walked up through the cleared path and hugged the owner of the mess from behind, standing on her tiptoes to do so from over the back of the chair.

“Bienvenido a casa.” The woman said, patting Olivia on the head. “¿Cómo estuvo la escuela?”

“Aburrido.” Olivia replied in quiet Spanish, letting go and stepping back. “La clase siempre es aburrida. ¿Puedes tomarte un descanso? Quiero que conozcas a Ewan antes de irnos a la pijamada.”

“Ewan?” The woman asked. She pushed back from her desk and stood up, stretching her arms as she did so. “¿Es tu nuevo amigo gay?"

At this point I was completely lost. My Spanish was barely good enough to ask where the bathroom was on the best of days, and these two spoke way faster than I could reasonably process. I’d heard my name and “gay friend” though, so it wasn’t a stretch to assume they were talking about me.

“Ci.” Olivia gestured my way. “Está justo aquí.”

I knew what that meant though, and I was not ready. The last time I’d been introduced to a new friend’s parents had been Nadir, and that was back in the second grade. So I rapped my knuckles on the door frame twice, because that’s what the sign said.

“Uhm, hello. I’m Ewan.”

The woman finally turned and looked at me. She looked almost exactly like Olivia did, same skin tone, same chocolatey hair, same sharply thin nose, they were even about the same height. The only real difference came from their eyes. Olivia’s eyes were sharp and light brown, where her mother had soft green eyes. She also wore a white tank top and leggings in contrast to Olivia’s current purple and black ensemble

She looked me over thoughtfully and tapped her lips. “Mm. Es más pequeño que el otro. Lindo también.” She murmured, before smiling and offering her hand. “Hello Ewan, it’s nice to meet you. Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure we have some snacks around here somewhere.” She brushed past me and walked off, presumably to the kitchen to fulfill that promise of snacks. That just left me with Olivia in the darkened pigsty of a room she called her office.

“She seems nice.”

“You knocked.” Oliva crossed her arms. “You knocked on the door.”

I gave a sheepish smile. “I kind of blanked. And the sign said to.”

“You’re a dork.”

I laughed. “Yeah, I really am. What did she say by the way? Right before she greeted me, I mean. She was kinda quiet.”

Olivia frowned and grabbed my hand, dragging me out of the room. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s go.” I let her pull me along. I could have been wrong, but she almost seemed a little embarrassed.

We found Olivia’s mother leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug in one hand and a frosted donut in the other. She motioned to an opened pink box on the table with similarly tasty looking, multi-colored treats in neat rows, right next to a jug of chocolate milk.

“Help yourself, we have plenty.” She winked and put a finger to her lips. “It’ll be our little secret, tu entiendes?”

“Ci.” I replied, more than happy to indulge in a little “secret keeping.” “Thank you, Missus…” I stopped. I only just now realized that I didn’t know Olivia’s last name. Or Jake’s. In fact, I wasn’t certain I knew the full name of any of my classmates. Honestly, I felt pretty bad about it. “Uhm…”

“Zaira, sweetie. You can just call me Zaira.”

Oh thank god. I bit into my donut to hide my shamed relief, making a mental note to learn my friends’ last names. It seemed somewhat important. “Thank you for the donut and milk! I’m sorry to have imposed.”

She just laughed at that. “Oh Niño, it’s no imposition.”

“Yeah,” Olivia said, browsing through the selection of snackage before settling on a donut with purple frosting and red sprinkles. “She loves any excuse to get out the junk food. A broken promise isn’t so bad when you do it for a guest, is it?” She took a bite and gave her mother a look, chewing slowly.

Zaira made a sort of “what can you do” gesture. “A diet isn’t a promise, pequeño girasol. It’s an endurance test. And cheating is only bad when you get caught.”

I nearly spit my milk up at that one. I had never heard a parent advise cheating on anything, and I certainly didn’t expect it to sound so matter of fact.”

Olivia just took another bite and raised an eyebrow. “And when your diet partner finds out?”

Zaira made a face. “Bad attitudes lead to bad realities, why don’t we just enjoy our snack for now?”

“Because.” Olivia replied, checking her phone, then pointing to the doorway. “That.”

We looked and found nothing but silence for a few seconds. Then came the sound of keys, and then came the owner.

A red-haired woman, well over six feet tall and wearing a police uniform strolled into the kitchen, twirling her key ring in one hand and making a finger gun with the other.

“Freeze girls!” She called, dipping the brim of her hat over one eye and pointing her “gun” up at the ceiling. “You’re under arrest for stealing my heart! You have the right to remain adorable, anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of love!”

I choked and nearly dropped to the floor as chocolate milk spewed from my nose and onto the counter, narrowly missing the donuts in a moment of truly miraculous circumstances. The only thing that kept me from dying of embarrassment right then and there was the fact I was still attempting to laugh.

Zaira went from laughter to panic instantly as she rushed from the counter and to my side. “Dios, are you alright?!”

“Breathe!” Olivia yelled, smacking my back. It did not help.

“I’m fine!” I choked out, waving them away. “I’m okay, stop hitting me!” I coughed a few more times before straightening back up, catching sight of the incredulous look on the officer’s face, and double back over in laughter.

“Well.” She said, surveying the room before her. “I’m glad my daughter warned me we had company before I made a fool of myself.” She held up her phone and looked to Olivia, tapping it with her finger. “‘We’re in the kitchen’ could have used more detail, sunflower.”

“Wasn’t important, Mom” Olivia replied, offering me a roll of paper towels. I accepted and blew my nose, hoping it wouldn’t be sticky later. “You just had to see the snacks.”

Zaira clutched her chest in anguish. “Betrayed! Reported to the police, and by my own daughter no less! I thought I raised you better than to snitch on your beloved Mamá!”

“Aha! So you ADMIT to cheating on your diet without me!” Cop-mom wheeled on Zaira, gun-hand pointing accusingly. “Without me! When you know I love donuts! The treachery! The disloyalty!”

I’d finally finished clearing my sinuses and had started to wipe the spillage off the table as this happened, and I leaned over to Olivia, who’d been watching the drama play out with a neutral expression. “Is this a regular thing?” I asked quietly.

“Every month.” She muttered. “They never last long.

I wasn’t sure if she meant the diet or the argument, but at this point it didn’t matter.

“Olivia brought over a new friend today, I thought it called for a little celebration. The donuts were the best snack for such a rare occasion!”

“For them!” Cop-mom cried. “You ate one without me! Such betrayals are illegal! I should arrest you right here and now!” She stepped forward and grabbed Zaira, pulling her close and laying kisses on her neck. “You’ll… be… sorry!” she made out between smooches.

“Stop, stop!” Zaira giggled, reaching up to pull her wife’s face to hers. “Mi alma, not when we have company!”

Olivia pinched her forehead. “Mom, stop. Please.”

“All right, all right!” Cop-mom sighed, kissing Zaira’s neck one more time before letting her go. “I’ll stop embarrassing you in front of your…” She stopped and stared at me, apparently only just now registering my presence in the room. “…Friend.”

I gave a little wave and a cheery “Hello! It’s very nice to meet you.”

“Oh my god.”

“Pardon?”

“Zaira!” She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her wife’s legs. “Zaira, it’s terrible!”

“Mierda!” Zaira gripped the counter to steady herself. “What are you saying, Ada? What’s terrible, what happened?”

Cop-mom, Ada, pointed directly at me. I had the strangest urge to duck out of the way and see if she kept pointing. I also had the urge to hide.

“We’ve failed as parents; she’s brought home another boy!” She hid her face in Zaira’s legs and cried “Don’t you see? We’ve raised a straight!”

“Mom!” Olivia slammed her hands on the table, her face flush with anger. “¡Me estás avergonzando! ¡Se supone que piensa que estoy bien!”

Zaira, seemingly the source of Olivia’s evil nature, dropped down and hugged her wife. “You’re right!” She wailed. “¡Mi bebé, mi pobre bebé!”

Olivia hid her hands in her face and sagged against the tabletop. “Kill me.” She moaned. “Just kill me.”

I’m only a little ashamed to admit I started laughing at the absurdity of it all. On one hand, my friend was embarrassed, and I wasn’t making it any easier. On the other, I might have caught a glimpse of my possible future, if I dared hope that strongly. _What the heck, I can indulge in a little hope for myself, just this once._ And so I kept laughing, and soon Olivia’s mothers joined me.

“Hate you.” Olivia mumbled. “Hate you all.”

I could see a smile though, hiding behind her hands. A real smile, the smile of a friend.

I’d never tell though. Because sometimes, that’s what friends do.

“Sorry about that,” Ada said, wiping tears from her face. We’d moved to the living room while Olivia left to pack her slumber gear. Probably to wait for the embarrassment to die down too. Her parents sat on a faded green loveseat together. “I didn’t expect company, but It’s nice to meet you too. I’m Ada, I’m the mom.” She held up Zaira’s hand, held in her own. “And she’s Mamá.”

“Ewan.” I said. “Sorry to barge in, I was just coming with to help Olivia grab her things.”

“Creo que es dulce.” Zaira said quietly.

“Sí, es un poco lindo.” Ada replied in quiet Spanish, then louder she said “That’s nice of you. So… you’re new to Pueblo?”

I wasn’t sure if they knew I could hear them, but it probably didn’t matter since I could only understand one or two words. I made a second mental note to brush up on my Spanish in the future. I felt like I’d need it.

“It’s no trouble sweetie,” Ada replied. “It’s nice to see her making more friends! Jake’s been her only friend for so long, I was almost worried she was being picked on at school.”

_I’d like to see someone try._ “No no, it’s really thanks to her! She and Jake were the first friends I made here!” Basically the only friends I’d made too, but they didn’t need to know I was a loser just yet. “If they hadn’t sat by me first, it might never have happened!”

Zaira raised an eyebrow. “She sat by you? My daughter?”

I shrugged. “Well, yeah. She was really-”

“We’re going now.” Olivia grabbed me by the back of my shirt and yanked me off the couch. “I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”

“Ow, ow, ow, Olivia let go!” She loosened her grip but didn’t stop pulling. I gave up and just waved as we left the room. “It was nice meeting you! Have a good night!”

“You as well!” Zaira called back, laughter bubbling in her voice. “Olivia, no seas demasiado rudo con-” and the door cut the rest off with a loud slam.

I managed to pry her hand off as we left her yard, pulling my shirt back into place as well. “The hell was that for?”

She gave me a look and pushed her overnight bag into my hands so she could readjust her laptop bag. “They can’t be trusted and we’re running late.”

I stuck out my tongue and slung the bag over my shoulder. “Trusted with what? They were just asking about school!”

“For now.” She muttered darkly. “Tell nobody about this. It didn’t happen.”

I had to jog to keep up with her. For someone shorter than me she was a surprisingly quick walker. “Tell them what, that your parents are all lovey and dorky about it?”

She shot me another look.

I had to think for a moment before the answer dawned on me, and then I couldn’t help smiling at her again. “Was it the emotions? Are you embarrassed you got embarrassed by them?”

The look on her face would have withered a cactus. “Never. Happened. Now lead.”

“Yas’m.” I saluted.

“Smartass.”

Gramma was standing next to her car when we arrived, making a show of checking her nonexistent watch as we made our way up the driveway. “Finally deigned to show up, did you? Stop for snacks? A spot of tea maybe?”

I blew a raspberry. “Stopped to get her things, actually. Speaking of which…” I waved my hands at Olivia in a general “tadaa” motion. “This is Olivia. Via, meet Gramma.”

Olivia extended a hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Charmed.” Gramma accepted, giving a dainty shake. “I trust you can keep him out of trouble for an evening?”

“Hey!”

Olivia smiled. “I promise to try.”

Gramma smiled back, tapping her chin. “Then I suppose it’ll be alright. Ewan, I thought you said you were inviting two friends?”

“I did. I thought you said you were leaving for the weekend.”

Gramma smacked my shoulder. “Watch it. We’re leaving in just a mo’, Daniel insisted on showing you something before we go.”

That got my attention. “Really? What did he…” I stopped, as my attention was suddenly drawn to another source. “What the-”

“Bloody hell, what is that?”

The three of us watched as a tan pickup truck sped up the street, blaring heavy dubstep overlaid on rapping so rapid fire it seemed impossible for a single performer to pull off. The truck swooped around the cul-de-sac, the music fading as it skidded to a halt ten feet from us. It was covered in stickers and decals for bands I’d never even heard of that almost didn’t fail to distract from the monumental amounts of rust that coated the wheel rims and bumpers.

Jake hopped out of the bed of the truck, teetering either from the speed of travel or whatever he’d smoked beforehand that made it seem like a good idea.

“Thanks dad!” He yelled and pulled his backpack out of the truck bed. “I’m good here!”

A man stuck his head out the driver’s side window and… well, he looked a bit like Jake. They both had triangle heads and brown hair, but his dad’s was longer and streaked with grey, and a burn scar ran up the left side of his face from his neck to just below his eye. He looked distant and tired, but he smiled at his son and waved at him before driving off. He was missing half of his pinky and the tip of his ring finger. The music started back up again, and this time it was ska that echoed through the neighborhood.

“Sorry I’m late!” Jake yelled as he jogged up to us. “I had a car problem, so dad said he could drive me!” He stuck his hand out for Gramma with a cheerful grin. “Nice to meetcha, the name’s Jake!”

Gramma hesitated just a moment before taking his hand. “Opal. The pleasure is mine.” She let go of his hand and motioned to the door. “Please, come in, both of you. Make yourselves at home.”

They followed suit and I was ready to follow them, only for Gramma to pull me aside with a concerned look. “Ewan…”

“Yeah?”

“He’s not… he’s not trouble, is he?”

“Gramma, are you profiling my friend?”

“The SMELL, Ewan. I don’t want him bringing any of that into the house, you understand? None of that shenaniganry in our home.”

I pinched my forehead. “Gramma, Jake’s FINE. He’s a great guy and he wouldn’t do that, okay?”

“I just want to make sure you don’t take any risks while I’m gone.”

“No interest there. Are we good now?”

She frowned and didn’t answer, which I took for affirmation. I opened the door to get out of the heat, only for Gramma to stop me once more.

“Is he your type, Ewan?”

“Oh my god, PLEASE let it go!”

“Let what go?” Mr. Asher asked, making his way around the corner, his cane in one hand and a white package in the other. “Is she still fussing about the trip?”

Oh thank god, someone reasonable.

I gave a little wave and stood back to hold the door opened for him. “Not really, she’s just doing Gramma things again.”

“The nerve,” he drawled with a wink. “Who does she think she is?”

“Arses.” Gramma grumbled, storming past to snatch up her bag. “Surrounded by Arses.”

We laughed as she passed and stopped outside, gesturing impatiently. “Well? We don’t have all night.”

“Ah yes, one moment darlin’.” He hobbled past and motioned for me to step back outside, which I did, if a little reluctantly. It was still hot out, after all.

“Gramma said you wanted to show me something?”

He chuckled. “That I do, lad.” He opened the package, struggling slightly with the plastic. “I’d hoped to get this sooner, but delivery’s been delayed. But this…” He pulled out a multicolored lump of cloth, unfurling it with a little flourish. “...is as good a time as any.”

It was a flag. A rainbow flag. Daniel Asher had ordered a pride flag.

He smiled as he affixed it to the pole on the front step, right under the American flag, grunting quietly as he worked. Finally, he turned back to us and braced himself with his cane, leaning forward to clasp my shoulder. “Welcome home my boy. You’ll always have a place here.”

My eyes stung and I hugged him. I caught him off guard, but after a moment he hugged me back.

“Thank you.”

“It’s been my pleasure. Now leave an old man his ribs, will you? I’ll need them for the drive ahead of us.”

“Right right, sorry!” I pulled back, wiping my nose. “It’s just… thanks. Thank you.”

“Least I can do.” He chuckled, rolling his shoulders. “Can’t leave you alone without a little support, can we?”

I didn’t have an answer to that, just the strongest urge to hug him again.

Gramma had one though.

“Alright, that’s quite enough for now. There’ll be plenty more time for this when we get back.”

“Gramma, are you crying?”

She looked away and took Mr. Asher by the arm, leading him to the car. “It’s dust. Now go enjoy your sleepover, we’re running too late for silly questions.”

I nodded and watched them go, waving goodbye as their car sped off down the hill. It was fine, I could let her have this one. She was a prideful woman, after all.

Besides, it wasn’t like I’d seen her kiss his cheek before they pulled out. And I certainly hadn’t watched his face go completely red as they drove away.

Nope. Hadn’t seen anything like that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should be arrested for this. This is an illegal amount of cheese.


	11. Fortress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A big room, a big fort, a big realization. Ewan should pay more attention to himself.

“So this is it, huh?”

I nodded. “Yep, this is where I live. The living room’s to the right, upstairs are the bedrooms and library, kitchen’s on the left. Make yourselves comfy.”

“I’ll do that.” Jake said, sauntering into the living room with an excited grin. Olivia nodded and followed.

I turned to go the kitchen but stopped when I heard Jake’s cry of “Holy shit!” echo through the hallway. I peeked around the corner to find him just standing in the middle of the room, rapidly looking from one spot to another, mouth agape. Olivia was rapidly snapping pictures at his side.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just really big!” Jake looked at me, eyes sparkling. “You really just hang out in all this?”

I nodded. I couldn’t blame him for being impressed, I’d had much the same reaction to the room when we’d first moved in. It was the size of our entire apartment back home, and most of that was just wasted space. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t empty by any means. There were four couches, two tables, three recliners, a rocking chair and one of those weird egg-shaped net chairs. The was a lot in there, there was just more floor space than anyone could reasonably be expected to fill. There was also a seventy-inch flat-screen on one wall, under which stood a small fortune’s worth of DVDs, old video tapes and even a couple gaming systems. It was a nice room.

Jake was over the moon. “This. Is fucking AWESOME! We’ve gotta sleep out here tonight! I mean, just feel that carpet!” He bounced from foot to foot, digging his toes into the soft carpeting that was, according to some people, a “right nightmare” to clean. “We won’t even need sleeping bags!”

“It’s nice.” Olivia agreed, stretching out on her back. “One big pillow.”

I giggled and dropped to the floor. “Amazing what money can get you, yeah? This place is way nicer than where we used to live.”

“Really?” Jake belly-flopped onto the carpet, groaned in pain, then propped himself up. “Where did you live before?” Olivia didn’t express the same level of interest, but she did sit up at look at me.

I shrugged. “La Crosse. It’s an average sized city in Wisconsin. Lived there pretty much all my life.”

Olivia tilted her head slightly. “Was it bad?”

“Hm.” I took a second to think. “It wasn’t… bad, per se. Gramma didn’t like it very much, but that’s because she moved there from London to take care of me, and she’s never been the biggest fan of America. La Crosse is a decent city, it just wasn’t what she really wanted.”

“Mm.”

“Our apartment was tiny too. So this is like, the biggest upgrade we could have gotten.”

“Dude, you have no idea! This place is WAY better than my house!” Jake offered his fist. I hit it with a grin.

“Thanks dude. It took some getting used to, but this place is really great!”

“Speaking of…” Olivia snapped a picture of our little bro moment. “Why were you late? We walked and were still here before you.”

“Oh, that.” Jake grinned sheepishly. “I, uh. I got SUPER high when I got home. So I kinda goofed on my timing and all.”

Well, that was mildly concerning. “Exactly how high did you get?”

“I sat in my car for a half-hour before my dad offered me a ride because I thought the pinecone in my driveway was a hedgehog and I was waiting for it to move.”

He sounded so matter of fact about it.

It was a struggle to process this information. “I think you smoke too much weed.”

Jake laughed. “I dunno dude, a little more pot and I might not feel sad in history class!”

Olivia stood up. “History’s supposed to make you sad. That’s how you know you’re learning from it. Bathroom upstairs?”

“Uh, yeah. You good?”

She just shook her head and walked away. I honestly had no idea what to make of any of this.

Jake shook his head too. “Damn, that got real.”

“Yeah. I think you upset her?” I wasn’t entirely clear on her emotional status.

“Nah, she loves me!”

“She must if this is a normal thing with you.”

“Hey hey!” Jake pointed at me, eyes narrowed. “Nobody’s ever gotten high on weed and stabbed a bus of babies! This was a purely harmless, dumb kinda illicit drug moment.” He frowned thoughtfully. “No need for a history lesson here.”

I held my hands up in surrender. “Not arguing that, just saying you’re weird and I have no idea when I’ll get used to it.”

“Oh. Okay good.” Jake looked around the room and beamed. “We should make a pillow fort!”

“Are you still high?”

He eyed me. “I might be. That a problem?”

I grinned. “No, I just can’t believe I didn’t think of it first!”

He hopped up, seemingly unable to contain his excitement. “That’s the power of the weed, my friend! Now let’s go!”

“What. Are you doing?”

We could only see Olivia’s legs from the opening in our fort, but she sounded more amused than anything else. We’d had more than enough time to construct our citadel of softness, and we’d admittedly gone a little crazy with it. Not only had we stripped the cushions and pillows from every amenable piece of furniture in the room, but we’d also looted both my room and the hall closet, constructing dubiously strong walls and covering them with bedsheets that were pinned to the two tables on either side of the couch that served as rear wall. The only opening was partially covered as well, a curtain of sheets falling about halfway down to help dim what little light made it in through our blanket roof.

“WHO DARES APPROACH FORT KICKASS!” I cried, launching a throw-pillow through the hole, where it landed a savage blow upon her exposed shins. “NAME YOURSELF, FRIEND OR FOE?!”

Jake sniggered at my side, patting his own modest arsenal of pillowy projectiles.

“Not very original.” Olivia said, kicking the expended missile back into our sanctum. “Try a better name.”

I looked to Jake. “Do we have a better one? I mean, I just made that up. Do we need a better one?”

Jake didn’t answer. He just rolled onto his back, stretched out and bellowed “WHO DARE’S APPROACH FORT GAY-BUTT?!”

His volume made me wince, but I couldn’t help laughing at what he said. Neither could Olivia, it seemed, who made a strangled snorting noise as she bent down to look at us, one eye and the corner of her mouth twitching. “What?” She asked.

“What?” I echoed.

Jake shrugged. “You’re gay and we both have butts. Makes sense to me.”

Olivia turned away to make another choked noise and I buried my face in one of the many pillows we had on hand.

I only managed to get out “You’re right” before covering my face again. If I looked him in the eye I would break down and cackle like a hyena, I just knew it.

“Well,” Olivia said, sounding back in control. “Glad we have that established. Is there room for me?”

“Oh sure.” I freed my face and smiled. “We could fit another one or two people.”

Jake grinned. “Pull up a pillow. Make sure you have a butt; we’ve reached our gay quota already!”

Sophia rolled her eyes and slid between us, pulling her laptop bag behind her. “We just stay in here?”

“Is that a problem?”

“Only without snacks.”

“Shitbiscuits, I forgot them!” I pulled myself out and ran to the kitchen. “Sorry, I’ll be right back!”

“Bring some drinks!” Jake yelled.

Luckily, Gramma had agreed to my junk food requests when we went shopping this week and the pantry was jam packed with all the foods she’d normally… well not exactly forbid, but greatly disapprove of. So while we had the usual options, such as popcorn and a bag or two of chips, tonight we had access to king sized chocolate bars, powdered donuts and the large variety of gummy candy I’d thrown into the cart at random. Plus, I’d managed to talk her into including a twelve-pack of the cherry variety of the drink alternative to meth. It was a good haul.

I threw the popcorn in the microwave, snatched up the drinks and gathered the candy into a paper grocery bag, dropping the latter two off with my friends before returning to the kitchen for the popcorn and a bottle of water, a last-minute request from the more health-conscious of my two friends.

It was when I popped back into the refrigerator that I finally noticed the small paper bag with my name on it, carefully nestled between the milk and the leftover gravy. Curious, I opened it up to find a single frosted cookie. It was a little smudged, partially thanks to the note card left on top of it, but it was clearly meant to be a cat’s face, complete with whiskers, a sideways “three” mouth and pointy ears. The card was covered in frosting, but the writing was legible.

To the cute Kitten

saw this and thought of you

feel free to purr in thanks

Lance

I stared down at the card for a long moment, almost missing the microwave’s final “ding!” as the popcorn concluded its explosive transformation. It was dumb. Like, really, REALLY dumb. It was lame and cheesy and condescending and easily the sweetest thing any guy had ever done for me, and as far as I knew, Lance wasn’t even interested in me like that.

“Well shit.” I whispered as I filled a bowl with popcorn. “I think I really like this guy.”

“So are you gonna eat that thing or just stare at it?”

“Huh?” I shook myself out of my stupor. I hadn’t realized I’d just been laying in the fort and staring at it in silence. “Oh. Uh, yeah.”

“It’s cute.” Olivia noted, tossing some popcorn into her mouth as she scrolled through the movie selection. “Un lindo gato.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, real cute. Is it special or what?”

I took a quick bite. “Nah, I just found it in the fridge. Lance left it for… wait, does lindo mean cute?”

“Ci, cabron.”

I took a second to process this information. “So that means your moms were calling me-”

“Do you like Lance?” Very subtle transition. Luckily, I’m dumb.

“Who me? Nup, can’t say I do. Just a tasty cookie from a friend, see?” I scarfed it down, barely taking a moment to breath as I desperately destroyed the evidence. It really did taste very good. “See? Super tasty.”

Look at me, the master of persuasion.

Yeah, they didn’t buy it. Jake and Via just looked at each other, looked back at me and I could just feel them judging me. Or maybe they were concerned, I would be too if one of my friends was that bad at acting.

“So… movie?”

Olivia just shook her head and scrolled through the menu. “Comedy.”

“I’m thinking a rom-com.” Jake grinned at me. “Something really dumb.”

I buried my face in a pillow and groaned. This was not how I’d hoped.

“What was that, Ewan? Something about a specific movie?”

I groaned again and lifted my head. “Probably an old one then, yeah? I’ll bet there’s something good.”

Olivia started searching. “How old? Eighties, nineties, or back in the fifties?”

A can hissed as Jake cracked it open. “How about ‘The Princess Bride’? My dad gushes about it all the time.”

I nodded, scrolling through my own google search. “It’s a safe bet. I’ve heard a lot of references to it, but never really seen it myself.”

“My mom too.” Via said, clicking on the movie. “Let’s fix that.”

And so we settled in, snacks on hand, to experience the most famous movie we’d never seen. Time passed and I found myself engrossed in the incredibly stupid story of a man and woman determined to love each other despite the machinations of literally everyone around them, somehow including themselves. It was great.

“Okay, I call bullshit.” Jake popped the tab of his fourth can of carbonated cherry. “There’s no way rats could get that big. And the dude was dead! How the hell did they bring him back to life?”

“It’s called fantasy for a reason.” I emptied the last of the sugar dust in a gummy bag into my mouth. “He didn’t believe in them either. Suspend your disbelief.”

He snorted. “Whatever, it was pretty good.”

“Not exactly generation defining.” Olivia added, clicking back to the menu. “But not bad.”

She was full of shit. She hadn’t checked her phone once the entire movie.

“I call sports for the next one. I wanna see that ‘Mighty Ducks’ movie. I heard it’s got rocket pucks!”

“You might be thinking of the cartoon,” I said, scrolling through my phone. “It says the live action is about saving a rink or something else really nineties in nature.”

“That sounds just as dumb, I love it!”

Olivia nodded, licking sugar from her thumb. “Ducks, got it.”

“So is that a thing you can do?” I asked as the credits rolled. “Flip a puck on its side and launch it at someone’s face?”

“Probably?” Jake shrugged. “Dude, I dunno, I play basketball. Hockey’s just fun to watch.”

“Fair enough. Hey, does the school have a track team?”

Jake looked surprised. Olivia checked her laptop. “Tryouts start in the spring. Why though?”

I shrugged. “When I went into the principal’s office for that fight-”

“For breaking Gavin’s nose.” Jake corrected.

I rolled my eyes. “When I went there for breaking Gavin’s nose-”

“Which he deserved.” Olivia added.

“Thanks. Look, when I went there, Principal Michaels kind of… no, he actively insinuated that I was gay because my dad was dead and had no backup father figure.”

Well, they both gave me an odd look for that. They didn’t seem surprised, just a little confused.

“Wait…” Jake bit his thumb, deep in thought. “So he thinks you’re gay because of…”

“Daddy issues.” Olivia said in a tight voice. She does not beat around the bush.

“Yeah those.” I said with a nod. “And I think he implied a sports team would somehow fill in the exterior manliness quote my life’s been missing somehow, like I just need to spend more time around dudes to not be gay?” I put my hands up, exasperated. “And yeah, that’s why I asked. The movie reminded me.”

“He thinks sports make you not gay?” Jake seemed utterly baffled. “Does that… does that work? You’re my only gay friend, so I dunno but I don’t think it does.” He turned to Olivia. “Does that make any sense?”

“No.” Olivia finally looked up, mouth twitching into a frown. “But that’s normal for him.”

Interesting. “How’s that?”

She waved her hand. “He’s just one of those guys. He thinks that manly toughness is the cure for everything, boys don’t cry, cowboy boots are cool… that type.”

“Anything I couldn’t have picked up just by talking to him?”

“He plays his own country music.”

I snorted. “No fucking way!”

“He does!” Jake groaned, flopping onto his back. “He sang Johnny Cash for us before a game once!”

“Oh my god.” I took a deep breath, really trying not to laugh in his face. “That must have been horrible.”

“Nah, he’s got an okay voice. But the memory of him in a tasseled leather vest with his boots and hat just kept distracting me during the game.”

I was trying not to laugh at him, I really was. It was getting harder with each passing word.

Olivia nodded. “Plus, he’s been looking for an excuse to fire Mx. Angel.”

I lost the urge to laugh. “Why? Fucking why, they’re a great teacher!” They made algebra tolerable, a considerable feat by any standard.

“They came out last year.” Olivia looked angry. Well, as angry as she ever looked, she kind of just narrowed her eyes. “The lack of teachers tied his hands, so he can’t fire them just for being nonbinary.”

Jake rolled back onto his stomach. “Oh yeah, I remember that. Sh- they changed their desk plate and everything. Didn’t he yell at them or something?”

She nodded. “Nothing he can do; the union has their back. He just has to stew in his…” She frowned slightly. “Homophobia? Nonbinary-phobia? I don’t know the word.”

“Me neither.” I fell back onto the pillows. “I knew it was gonna be this way from the moment I met the guy!”

“Wow, you really got that right away?” I couldn’t tell if Jake was being sincere or if he was just really subtle with his sarcasm.

“Oh sure. He just has an air about him that’s kinda like…” I sat back up, took a deep breath, and in the worst, most over the top southern accent I could muster, shouted “Well howdy y’all!”

My friends both jerked in surprise. Clearly, they didn’t know I was a master of impressions.

“I’m Principal Michaels!” I twanged, plopping a pillow on my head and dipping it like a cowboy. “And I’m so fuckin’ southern white trash I got me a banjo for a penis! I call it strummin’ when I masturbate!” I strummed an imaginary banjo.

They completely lost it. Jake literally rolled across the floor in loud guffaws, knocking into the side of the fort and bringing it down, covering himself in the blanket. This set me off, which made Olivia laugh even harder than before and it was honestly surprising.

Olivia laughed like an asthmatic hyena, shrieking and gasping, taking in long, wheezing gulps of air only to follow them up with high pitched delighted screams. She clutched her belly and leaned back on the couch, pointing at Jake as he struggled to escape from his cloth prison only to roll over another pillow and trap himself even more. She sounded terrifying and it was an absolute delight.

“What’s so funny?”

We froze, peeking out from under the wrecked fortress. We’d been laughing so hard we hadn’t heard Lance walk in, still in his leather jacket, his helmet under one armpit.

“What?” he drawled slowly. “Somethin’ I said?”

We just burst out laughing once more, leaving him standing over us in complete confusion.

“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”

“Not talking about it.”

Oliva stared at the couch, her back to us as Jake helped me put the for back up. Hopefully we wouldn’t knock this iteration over too. Lance had long since left, either to change clothes or to escape the pile of giggling maniacs that had taken over his living room.

I shrugged, trying to sound nonchalant. “I mean, it sounded like you were enjoying yourself.”

“Not. Talking.”

I looked to Jake, who shrugged and picked up another pillow. “She’s embarrassed.” He said, as if that needed explaining. “It’s a sore spot for her.”

“Shut up!” Olivia barked over her shoulder, her glare practically melting a hole through the poor guy. “I don’t get embarrassed. About my laugh or anything else.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. No emotions, above it all, blah blah blah.”

“Exactly, now shut it.”

“Olivia…” I hesitated, unsure what to say. I crawled back into the fort, taking a seat next to her. “Why don’t you like emotions? I mean, they can suck sometimes, but…” 

“They’re pointless.” She replied, matter of fact. “Emotions only get in the way of ruling over the fools and naysayers with an iron, datamined fist.”

“Uh… huh?” I didn’t have a real response.

Jake sat down on her other side. “You could tell him, Via.” He suggested softly. “Secret’s out, he knows you’re a human.”

Olivia snorted and pinched her forehead. “There goes that disguise. Life isn’t great here, you know that?”

Oh, she was talking to me. “Um… Oh yeah?”

“Long story short, I’m not white and I have two moms. People aren’t nice about either and getting upset never helps. So I don’t.”

“You just… don’t?”

She looked at me and she looked... soft. Almost vulnerable, something I was not used to seeing on her. “Mama taught me computers and Mom taught me how to handle bullies. I don’t get upset, I get results.”

Ah. I nodded, finally understanding. Olivia was incredibly controlled because it was her way of handling the unfairness the world threw at her. She didn’t try to ignore it like me, she faced it head on, calm, smart and in control. And I could respect that.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

She waved me off. “Es bueno, it’s fine. I’ll let you get away with it. Once.”

“That’s progress!” Jake laughed. “Now that’s two guys who know you’re secretly a big softy!”

“Slander me again and I end your life.”

He put his hands up. “You got it! Wanna do something for dinner? I’m starving!”

“You just ate.”

“Those were snacks! Snacks don’t count, right Ewan?”

I nodded sagely and crawled out of our little hidey-hole. “He’s right, snacks don’t count. Lemme check the kitchen, see what I can do.”

“Don’t take too long!” Jake called.

“Don’t leave me alone with him.” Olivia added.

“You got it!” I yelled back, walking into the kitchen to just narrowly avoid colliding with Lance. “Shit, sorry Lance!”

“’S cool. You done bein’ weird in there, kitten?” He’d changed out of his jacket and pants and was currently wearing shorts and a black T-shirt, emblazoned with silver letters that said “Your band here, $20.” His biceps looked amazing.

I was suddenly reminded of the cookie he left, plus all those feelings that were totally under control. I handled it about as well as you’d expect.

“Nyop. Yes! I mean, no! We’re never done!” I laughed awkwardly and dug my nails into my palms, silently screaming in anguish. How was I struggling to have a conversation with this man? This incredibly distracting and attractive man. “Dyou… are you hungry? We were thinking food. For dinner!”

Lance gave me an odd look. “Sure, what did ya have in mind?”

I had no idea, but I was lucky enough to catch a break. On the counter to our left I spotted an envelope with my name on it, something I’d missed during my initial kitchen raid.

“One mo!” I begged, clumsily ducking around him and snatching the packet. There was forty dollars inside, along with a note from Gramma, instructing me to order pizza from “Pizza Panda,” a local place that apparently had a special this week. The appropriate coupon was nestled in with the bills. “Panda!”

“Pardon?”

I brandished the coupon. “Pizza Panda! Gramma left cash! Toppings?” My face felt very hot.

Lance chuckled. “Sure blondie, order what ya like. I’ll just take whatever ya have.” He winked and walked out. All I felt was hot and the strongest need to readjust myself.

“So… pizza?” Jake tossed a pillow to himself. “Sounds good to me!”

I sat down next to him and pulled up the menu for Pizza Panda on Olivia’s laptop. “How’d you guess? Just seemed natural for a sleepover?”

“Well, yes…” He began.

“And we heard you panicking in the kitchen.” Olivia finished, scrolling through her phone. “You’ve got it bad.”

I let myself sink into the pillows. “Think he knows?” I could only hide my face, my shame remained on full display.

“I mean, you weren’t THAT bad…” Jake was really trying to be nice, but we all knew I was a mess.

“Yes he was.” Olivia plucked at my hair. “You need help.”

“I feel so awkward!” I groaned. “I barely know anything about him! I don’t know what he likes on his pizza, I don’t know how he always spends his Fridays, I don’t even know if he likes boys! What if he doesn’t like me back, do I change my name and move to another country or do I kill him and then myself? I know balls about him and balls about love!”

We sat in silence for a few minutes as I quietly stewed in self-pity. Jake and Olivia looked at me, looked at each other and finally back to me.

“Why don’t you try asking him?”

I stared up at Jake in disbelief. “I tried asking him about friggun PIZZA toppings and fell apart into a gibbering mess! What makes you think I’d willingly go through that again?”

“To be near him, duh.”

He had me there. “I hate that you’re right.”

“It happens sometimes. Via, you got anything?”

“Have you checked online? Facebook, twitter, insta, anything like that?”

I had not. Surprisingly, the idea hadn’t crossed my mind. “Isn’t Facebook stalking kinda weird?” And maybe a little desperate? Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely desperate. But I also didn’t want to freak him out. Even if he did it to me on the regular.

“It’s not Facebook stalking,” she replied, her tone carrying an unspoken “you dolt.” “It’s market research.”

“Can we order first, maybe do the stalking later? I’m getting kinda hungry.” Jake’s stomach gurgled loudly.

I sat back up and began dialing. “Yeah, sorry dude. What do you guys want on your pizza?”

“Chicken, sausage and pineapple!”

“Gross. Via?”

“Onion, olives and jalapenos.”

“Cool. Lemme just place the order, and then…” I sighed. I couldn’t believe I was saying it, but sometimes that’s just how life goes. “And then let’s do some market research on my crush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this turned out okay, it's been a long time since I last posted. Sorry for the delay.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is actually my first attempt at a romance story. It probably shows.


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